Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories by Bradley Beaulieu

Author:Bradley Beaulieu [Beaulieu, Bradley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quillings Literary
Published: 2012-11-27T22:00:00+00:00

On the fourth day from port, the sun warmed my back as I lounged on the bowsprit, smelling the sea.

A brass bell rang three times, cutting through the wind. I clapped my hands over my head and hunkered down tightly.

The thunder of a cannon broke the calm, rattling my head despite my meager protection. Far to the starboard side, the splash of the cannonball broke a wave, and again further away, and more times as it skittered over the sea’s surface.

“That’s enough, men,” Captain Hoevin called. “Secure the cannons.”

A league or more behind us, another cannon peal broke over the waves. Twelve other ships had joined the fleet in the last two days, and according to the captain, the other seven would be join us shortly. We were now only a half-day’s sail from the besieged city of Trilliar.

The minds of my fellow shaman called from the other ships—two were ahead, on the flagship and another gargantuan vessel, and the others behind. With each that came nearer, the bond between us strengthened.

The captain had found his niece, Neera. She had been allowed to stay, for with the battle so near and the city at such need, the captain could no longer justify returning home. To my surprise, she had kept her promise, returning to speak to me several times each day. She asked of my home and the other yeavanni villages on the far side of the sea. She asked how I could manage without eyes, how I could talk with the other shaman, how I could control the seas. All of these I answered as best I could, and in truth, my heart rejoiced at the chance to speak of Yeavan and her ways.

Even if the girl never learned, never believed, it was an outpouring that had been damming up inside me for years. Too many years, I thought. So many that the speaking of such things brought back a yearning such as I hadn’t felt in a long time.

My proud words of faith to Iulaja felt hollow to me now. In the bowels of my mind I had to admit that had the enemy appeared before me right there and then, I might have slaughtered them all simply to go home. Iulaja had a point, after all. Yeavan did not speak of ritual with other races. What were human lives to her? Did we not war with our enemy, the salazaar? Did Yeavan not sanction such actions when necessary? Ah, but there lies the rub: this felt too much like murder, instead of defending our people.

Footsteps padded over the forecastle deck, and I broke the contact with my brothers and sisters, perhaps embarrassed at the relationship I had fostered with the human girl.

“Uncle says the battle will begin tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Will you fight?” she asked, spoken like she was unsure what she wanted the answer to be.

“No, child, I will not.”

She stepped to the gunwale and tapped something metal against the wood of the rail.

“That’s probably best,” she said, “seeing as you want to fall to Yeavan’s arms.

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