Mel Odom - Rising Tide

When he showed no sign of responding to the catcalls and off-color comments, the other sailors gave up baiting him. High above the deck, feeling the morning sun soak into him, he let go of the emotions, pushing them out of his body. Madame litaar had been the first to get him past the fear that had become his birthright. She had taught him to trust himself, and gradually a handful of others, but he was at his best when he was alone.

His fingers worked cleverly, almost without him thinking about it. He braided the new rope in with the old rigging, then cut away the frayed pieces. The cries of the heggrims, following after Finaran's Butterfly for the garbage that was dumped every morning and after every meal, soothed him. He chose a new piece of rope and paused long enough to gaze out across the water.

The ocean spread rolling and green. He loved the sea, loved the sailor's life, loved the autonomy of living aboard ship. Those things took him away from large groups of people. Interacting with others, especially when they didn't make sense, drained him and often left him dispirited.

He breathed in the salt air and felt invigorated. The Amnians would be gone soon, and they'd be home in Velen for a few days. He found he was looking forward to it more than usual.

"What happened betwixt you and that girl, lad?" Jherek sat in the rigging, tied in now as he worked the more narrow and more tricky spots on the mast. The storm yesterday morning had been unforgiving, ripping across the cog's decks and doing exterior damage that would be repaired at a later time.

"What's she saying?" Jherek asked carefully.

Captain Virne Finaren stood on the nearby mast arm, a short burly man of sixty and more years who hadn't given up any aspect of his duties to his ship. The captain still hand-trained the more capable of his crew. He'd taught Jherek the few things the boy hadn't known about ships.

"She's saying that you made improper advances toward her," Finaren said.

He wore a full beard the yellow color of Calim Desert sand, spotted now with winter silver. The sun had tightened his eyes, making them slits across copper pupils. His face was seamed from exposure to the elements and a dagger thrust had left a harsh scar above his right eyebrow. He wore a doublet, breeches, and boots. A red kerchief kept his long hair from his eyes.

Jherek didn't say anything, keeping his hands busy.

"I'm caught in a bit of a muddle," the captain admitted as he went on.

"Why?" Jherek asked.

"A crewman of mine making advances against a woman on my ship, he's a crewman going to get a taste of the cat."

Jherek knew Finaren was referring to the cat-o'-ninetails he kept for ship's discipline. "Very well," he said.

"Very well?" Finaren repeated after a moment.

"Aye," Jherek said.

"You'd let me take the hide from your back, and we both knowing that pretty little tramp is lying like a rug?"

"I didn't say she was lying," Jherek pointed out.

"Lad," Finaren said, "we both know she's lying. You've never offered any man or woman-or beast, that I know of-anything in the way of an insult. Even them that you've killed in a fight you've never slurred before, during, or after."

Jherek said nothing, feeling bad that his ill luck was affecting Finaren as well. "I was looking at her," he admitted. "Maybe if I hadn't been doing that, she wouldn't have embarrassed herself."

"Valkur's brass buttons, boy!" Finaren exploded. "You're a seaman. You spend a netful of your life away from kith and kin, and the sight of a good woman. Even a sailor clinging to a sinking spar would gaze on Umberlee with favor, and her the cold bitch goddess she is that spares no man venturing out on the ocean. When we go out on the salt as a way of life, we know what we're giving up."

"I'm sorry," Jherek said.

A lump swelled in his throat as the confusion touched him. In every situation he truly believed there was a right thing to do, a fair thing. But for the life of him, he couldn't see what it was in this instance.

"Every manjack on this ship has been looking at them women," Finaren growled, "including meself. A fiery little wench like that, she gets a man's blood up. Trouble is, she knows it too, the little tart. She could've had any man on this cog, yet she went out of her way to reach for you."

"Captain, I didn't mean for any of this to happen," Jherek said. "I've tried to stay away from the Amnians as you suggested."

It had been easy, in fact, since the merchants had partied constantly since being aboard ship and Jherek had never liked being around loud, raucous people. Drinking seemed to blur the lines of polite society, and take away even the rules a lot of good people stood by when they were sober.

"I know, lad. We've just got a wicket of trouble to deal with. The girl's father is demanding some kind of recompense."

"I could offer him an apology."

"That's good of you, but he's looking for something more along the monetary lines. I'm loath to give it to him. I can be a tight-fisted old miser meself, and I believe he knows what really happened betwixt you and that little tramp. He also knows I daren't tell him off without proof of it." He looked away, turning his attention back to the ship he'd spent so much of his life on.

Below, two members of the ship's crew sat in chairs mounted on the aft deck. Most of Butterfly's supply of fresh fish was taken up in nets, but swordfish had been spotted running on the salt earlier. The meat was a delicacy, but the swordfish had a habit of tearing up nets. The sailors sat in the chairs and fished with hooks. It was a lot of work, but it saved the nets. The fishing had also become something of a pastime aboard ship, and men gambled over who would be the first to land a catch.

"Well, lad," Finaren said after a short time, "it's my problem to think on. I just wanted to get the right of it from you."

Jherek nodded, understanding full well the predicament the captain was in. "If there's anything I can do, let me know. I'll gladly do it."

Finaren looked at him with fondness, then dropped a heavy hand on Jherek's shoulder. "Aye, lad, I know that you would. You've been more honest with me than any man I've ever sailed with." He shook his head. "You've enough weight to bear, young Jherek, without dealing with the bilge offered by a selfish and conceited twit of a girl. No, I'll stand up and take care of this. Nobody's going to ramrod this ship but me. You just steer clear of any further encounters with those Amnians. I'll not have you spilling some young fop's guts and garters across my deck because he's trying to show out for Merchant Lelayn."

"Aye, captain."

"Have you had anything to eat, lad?"

"Not since morningfeast."

"The mid-day meal was an hour ago, lad."

"I didn't want to come down."

Finaren nodded. "I know. You stand steady up here. I know you like the solitude anyway. I'll have Cook put together a kit and have it sent up."

"Thank you."

"Faugh. It's nothing, lad. Not many men would have let that girl slap them and walk off the way you did. Nor would they have kept a civil tongue in their heads."

Jherek also knew of no other sailors who carried the dark secret he did. If that secret were to get out, it would see him clear of sailing-if it didn't get him killed outright. Captain Finaren had hired him on in spite of knowing the truth.

Yeill was wrong, Jherek knew, love did exist. He knew that because he loved the old sea captain for the way he accepted him in spite of the birthright that marked him. He watched Finaren nimbly descend to the lower decks, bellowing out orders to the ship's crew at once.

Some of the tense knot gripping Jherek's stomach released. He took a moment to himself and said a small prayer to Ilmater, the Crying God, asking for the strength to go on, then he returned to his work on the rigging.