Robin Hobb - Ship of Destiny

Amber stood just behind Althea. She spoke gently, in the same tones she had used when Paragon was in one of his tempers. "Let it go, Kyle. He's dead. It doesn't matter anymore. You're safe now."

"Doesn't matter!" he sputtered, outraged. "Does matter! Look at me. Damn mess. Your fault!" he suddenly declared, pointing at Althea with a shaky, crooked finger. His twisted hands made her feel faint to look at him. They bore the marks of systematic breaking. "Your fault — you unnatural — want to be a man. Shamed the family. Made the ship hate me. Your fault. Your fault."

Althea scarcely heard his words. She saw instead how he struggled to find words and force them from his mouth. Kyle took a great breath, his face mottling red with his effort. "I curse you! Die on this mad ship! Curse you with bad luck. Dead man on board. You'll die on this deck. Mark that! I curse you! All! I curse you!" He threw wide his shaky hands and saliva flew from his lips.

Althea stared at him, unspeaking. The true curse was that he was Keffria's husband, the father of Wintrow, Malta and Selden. It was her duty to restore him to them. The thought made her blood cold. Had not Malta suffered enough? She had idealized this man. Must she return this bitter wreckage to her sister's side?

When his words did not make his wife's sister flinch, his face wrinkled with fury. He spat on the deck before her, intending insult, but the spittle dribbled from his chin and she felt only appalled. She found words and spoke them calmly. "Kyle. Let him by, for the sake of his mother's grief. Let them pass."

While Kyle stared at her in slow comprehension, the men slipped past him with Kennit's body. Mother followed with one reproachful glance back at him. Etta was beside her now. For an instant, her eyes met Althea's. There were no words for what passed between them. "Thank you." The words were stiff and resentful. Hatred still burned in Etta's eyes, but the hatred was not for Althea. It was for the shameful truth that tormented both of them. Althea turned aside from that searing knowledge. Kennit had raped her. Etta knew, and the admission was a stake in the heart of her memories of him. Neither woman could escape what he had done to them.

Althea looked away, only to have her eyes fall on Kyle. Still muttering and swinging feeble fists in a display of anger, he gestured wildly as he shuffled away from them. His left foot turned out awkwardly.

Amber spoke quietly. "At night, in our room, you used to say you longed to meet him just one more time. Just so you could confront him with what he did."

"He stole my ship from me. He ruined my dreams." She spoke the old accusation. It sounded impossible now. Althea could not look away from the lurching figure. "Sa save us all." The encounter had taken but a few seconds but she felt years older. She dragged her gaze from Kyle to look at her friend. "Cheated of vengeance twice in one day," she observed in a shaky voice.

Amber gave her a surprised look. "Is that truly how you feel?"

"No. No, it isn't at all." Althea searched her heart and was surprised at what she felt. "Grateful. For my life, for my intact body. For a man like Brashen in my life. Sa's breath, Amber, I have nothing to complain about." She looked up suddenly, as if waking from a nightmare. "We've got to survive this, Amber. We have to. I've a life to live."

"Each of us does," Amber replied. She looked across the water to where men fought on the decks of the locked ships. "And a death to die as well," she added more softly.

"What would Kennit do now?" Wintrow muttered to himself as he scanned the closing circle of ships. He had taken up the men from the Jamaillian ship because he had not the heart to leave them to drown or be eaten. Weakness, Kennit would have said. Precious time wasted when he should have been getting his ship away. Jola was dutifully chaining them up, at his command. The thought made him queasy. But there was no time for second thoughts. He was alone in this now. Kennit was dead, and Etta sent off to mourn him. Althea had crossed to the Paragon. He had taken command of Vivacia, for he could not tolerate Jola captaining her. Now that he had her, he was afraid he would lose her and all hands. His mind flew back to the last time he had seized control of the ship. Then he had been replacing his father to bring her through a storm. Now he stepped up to fill Kennit's place, in the midst of battle. Despite the time that had passed, he still felt just as uncertain. "What would Kennit do?" he asked himself again. His mind refused to work.

"Kennit is dead." Vivacia spoke the harsh words softly. "You are alive. Wintrow Vestrit, it is up to you. Save us both."

"How? I don't know how." He looked around again. He had to act and swiftly. The crew believed in him. They had answered his every command willingly, and now he stood paralyzed as death closed in on them. Kennit would have known what to do.

"Stop that." She spoke in his heart as well as aloud. "You are not Kennit. You cannot command as he did. You must command as Wintrow Vestrit. You say you fear to fail. What have you told Etta, so often it rings in my bones? When you fear to fail, you fear something that has not happened yet. You predict your own failure, and by inaction, lock yourself into it. Was not that what you told her?"

"A hundred times," he returned, almost smiling. "In the days when she would not even try to read. And other times."

"And?"

He took a breath and centered himself. He scanned the battle again. His oldest training came suddenly to the fore. He drew another deep breath. When he let it out, he sent doubt with the spent air. He suddenly saw the battle as if it were one of Etta's game boards. "In conflict, there is weakness. That is where we will break through." He pointed toward the Marietta and the Motley, already locked in a struggle with the Jamaillian ships. Several others were moving to join the battle.

"There?" Vivacia asked, suddenly doubtful.

"There. And we do our best to free them with us." He lifted his voice in sudden command. "Jola! Bring us about. Archers to the ready. We're leaving!"

It was not what they expected, but once he had realized he could not forsake his friends, the decision was simple. Vivacia answered the helm readily and for a blessing, the wind was with them. Paragon followed without hesitation. He had a glimpse of Trell at the liveship's helm. That simple act of confidence restored Wintrow's faith in himself. "Do not hesitate!" he urged the ship. "We'll make them give way before us."

A Jamaillian ship veered in to flank her. It was a smaller vessel, fleet and nimble, her railing lined with archers. At the cries of his hostages, the bowmen faltered, but an instant later they let fly. Wintrow flung himself flat to avoid two shafts aimed at him. Another struck Vivacia's shoulder, but rebounded harmlessly. She shrieked her outrage, a cry as shrill as a serpent's. Wizardwood need fear no ordinary arrow. Pitchpots and flames would be another matter, but Wintrow judged correctly that they would fear to use them in such crowded circumstance. The lively wind would be very ready to carry scraps of flaming canvas from one vessel to another. Vivacia's archers returned the volley, with far greater accuracy. The smaller boat veered off. Wintrow hoped the news of their hostages would spread.

Just as he thought they had escaped unscathed, a man fell from the rigging. The arrow had pierced his throat; Gankis had died soundlessly. The old man had been one of Kennit's original crew. As his body struck the deck, Vivacia screamed. It was not a woman's cry, but the rising shriek of an outraged dragon. The anger that surged up from her invaded Wintrow as well. An answering roar came from Paragon, echoed by a shrill trumpeting from the white serpent.

A large ship was moving steadily into their path. No doubt, her captain sought to force Vivacia back into the thick of the fleet. Wintrow gauged their chances. "Cut it as fine as you can, my lady," he bade her. "Cry the steersman as you wish." He gripped the forerail and hoped he was not leading them all to their deaths. Canvas full and billowing, it became a race of nerves between the two ships. At the last possible moment the other captain slacked his sails and broke away. Vivacia raced past virtually under his bow. Wintrow became aware that the white serpent had moved up to pace them when it roared and sprayed the ship in passing.