Robin Hobb - Ship of Destiny

It was early evening when Kennit awoke. For a time, he lay still, savoring his elation. His sleep had completely restored him. Wintrow was healed, by his hands. Never had he felt so powerful as he had while his hands rested on Wintrow and his will healed the boy's skin. Those of his crew who had witnessed it regarded him with deep awe. The entire coast of the Cursed Shores was his for the plucking. Etta fair shone with love and admiration for him. When he opened his eyes and regarded the charm strapped to his wrist, even that small countenance was smiling wolfishly at him. For one perfectly balanced instant, all was well in his world.

"I am happy," Kennit said aloud. He grinned to hear himself say such foreign words.

A wind was rising. He listened to it whistle past the ship's canvas, and wondered. He had seen no sign of a storm arising. Nor did the ship rock as if beset by a wind. Had the dragon power over such things as a rising storm, too?

He rose hastily, seized his crutch and went out on deck. The wind that stirred his hair was fair and steady. No storm clouds threatened, and the waves were rhythmic and even. Yet, even as he stood looking about, the sound of a rising wind came again to his ears. He hurried toward the source.

To his astonishment, the entire crew was mustered around the foredeck. They parted to make way for him in awe-stricken silence. He limped through them and forced himself up the ladder to the foredeck. As he gained his feet, the sound of the rising wind came again. This time he saw the source.

Bolt sang. He could not see her face. Her head was thrown back so that her long hair cascaded over her shoulders. The silver and lapis of his gift shone against the foaming black curls. She sang with a voice like a rising wind, and then with the sound of waves slashed by wind. Her voice ranged from a deep rush to a high whistling that no human throat and lips could have produced. It was the wind's song given voice, and it stirred him as no human music ever had. It spoke deep within him in the language of the sea itself, and Kennit recognized his mother tongue.

Then another voice joined hers, winding pure notes around and through Bolt's sea song. Every head turned. A profound silence stilled every human voice on the ship. Wonder replaced the first flash of fear that seized Kennit. She, too, was as beautiful as his ship. He saw that now. The green-gold serpent rose swaying from the depths, her jaws stretched wide in song.

"Paragon, Paragon. What am I to do with you?"

Brashen's deep voice was very soft. The hissing rain that spattered on his deck was louder than his captain's voice. There did not seem to be any anger in it, only sorrow. Paragon didn't reply. Since Brashen had ordered that no one must speak to him, he had kept his own silence. Even when Lavoy had come to the railing one night and tried to jolly him out of it, Paragon had remained mute. When the mate had shifted his attempts to sympathy, it had been harder to keep his resolve, but he had. If Lavoy had really thought Brashen had wronged him, he would have done something about it. That he hadn't just proved that he was truly on Brashen's side.

Brashen gripped his railing with cold hands and leaned on it. Paragon almost flinched with the impact of the man's misery. Brashen was not truly his family, so he could not always read his emotions. But at times like this, when there was contact between flesh and wizardwood, Paragon knew him well enough.

"This isn't how I imagined it would be, ship," Brashen told him. "To be captain of a liveship. You want to know what I dreamed? That somehow you would make me real and solid. Not a knock-about sailor who had disgraced his family and forever lost his place in Bingtown. Captain Trell of the liveship Paragon. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? I thought we would redeem each other, ship. I pictured us returning to Bingtown triumphant, me commanding a sharp crew and you sailing like a gray-winged gull. People would look at us and say, 'Now there's a ship, and the man who runs him knows what he's about. And the families that discarded us both might suddenly wonder if they hadn't been fools to do so."

Brashen gave a small snort of contempt for his foolish dreams. "But I can't imagine my father ever taking me back. I can't even imagine him having a civil word for me. I'm afraid I'm always going to stand alone, ship, and that the end of my days will find me a sodden old derelict washed up on some foreign shore. When I thought we had a chance, I told myself, well, a captain's life is lonely. It's not like I'm going to find a woman that will put up with me for more than a season. But I thought, with a liveship, at least we'd always have each other. I honestly thought I could do you some good. I imagined that someday I'd lay myself down and die on your deck, knowing that part of me would go on with you. That didn't seem like such a bad thing, at one time.

"But now look at us. I've let you kill again. We're sailing straight into pirate waters with a crew that can't even get out of its own way. I haven't a plan or a prayer for any of us to survive, and we draw closer to Divvytown with each wave we cut. I'm more alone than I've ever been in my life."

Paragon had to break his silence to do it, but he could not resist setting one more hook into the man. "And Althea is furious with you. Her anger is so strong, it's gone from hot to cold."

He had hoped it would goad Brashen into fury. Anger he could deal with better than this deep melancholy. To deal with anger, all you had to do was shout back louder than your opponent. Instead, he felt himself the horrible lurch of Brashen's heart.

"That, too," Brashen admitted miserably. "And I don't know why and she scarcely speaks to me."

"She talks to you," Paragon retorted angrily. Cold silence belonged to him. No one could do it so well as he, certainly not Althea.

"Oh, she talks," Brashen agreed. "'Yes, sir. 'No, sir. And those black, black eyes of hers stay flat and cold as wet shale. I can't reach her at all." The words suddenly spilled out of the man, words that Paragon sensed Brashen would have held in if he could. "And I need her, to back me up if nothing else. I need one person in this crew that I know won't put a knife in my back. But she just stands there and looks past me, or through me, and I feel like I'm less than nothing. No one else can make me feel that bad. And it makes me just want to…" His words trailed off.

"Just throw her on her back and take her. That would make you real to her," Paragon filled in for him. Surely, that would bring a rise from Brashen.

Brashen's silent revulsion followed his words. No explosion of fury or disgust. After a moment, the man asked quietly, "Where did you learn to be this way? I know the Ludlucks. They're hard folk, tight with a coin and ruthless in a bargain. But they're decent. The Ludlucks I've known didn't have rape or murder in them. Where does it come from in you?"

"Perhaps the Ludlucks I knew weren't so fastidious. I've known rape and murder aplenty, Brashen, right on my deck where you're standing." And perhaps I am more than a thing shaped by the Ludlucks. Perhaps I had form and substance long before a Ludluck set a hand to my wheel.

Brashen was silent. The storm was rising. A buffet of wind hit Paragon's wet canvas, making him heel over slightly. He and the helmsman caught it before it could take him too far. He felt Brashen tighten his grip on the railing.

"Do you fear me?" the ship asked him.

"I have to," Brashen replied simply. "There was a time when we were only friends. I thought I knew you well. I knew what folk said of you, but I thought, perhaps you were driven to that. When you killed that man, Paragon — when I saw you shake his life out of him — something changed in my heart. So, yes, I fear you." In a quieter voice he added, "And that is not good for either of us."