Chapter 21. Becalmed

andao drowsed under a sheet of canvas, shading himself from the full glare of the sun blaring down on the becalmed ship.  A call had gone up for an elementalist but the captain had not booked one as a passenger nor hired one to serve for weather duty.  Just his luck that they had a lackwit at the helm.  His rotten, miserable luck.

Hopefully the annoying warrior would not come looking for him.  With any luck, Orick had his face shoved in a book.  Amazingly, the man could read without moving his lips.  Nandao had to admit that was rare by the standards of most warriors.  Even Brigit, bless her, had never learned to read.  Of course, who was he to talk?  His lousy grasp of Canthan had gotten Pendaran maimed beyond recovery.

Nandao had been a healer for nearly fifteen years.  In the spring time of his career he had been full of enthusiasm.  How wonderful to restore the sick and wounded to health and vigor.  He lived for the adulation and respect that had come with his role.  The Guild Wars had changed that, of course.  There was nothing wonderful about watching your comrades die around you for no reason at all; at least, no reason worth dying or killing for.

The Searing had ended his personal hell on the front lines of Orr.  He had gone instead to Ascalon in defense of his homeland.  Only it was no longer his homeland but a ruin.  Once more he questioned the pain and suffering he saw everywhere, growing to hate the gifts that brought him into contact with so much misery.

They called him lucky.  Well, he deserved a little luck for dwelling in his private hell.  Sighing, he rolled over, scooting down into the hollow created by the enormous coils of rope that currently formed his makeshift bed.  At least his talents were not needed now.  Once he got to Cantha and was rid of his obligations to Orick, he would find a nice quiet job as a translator, perhaps.  A job that did not involve paperwork, of course.  Or perhaps he would find Lemony.

Sighing, he fought his sadness, knowing she would forgive him everything.  She loved him without judgment or reserve.  On the other hand, she was mildly insane.  He smiled to himself as he thought of her antics.  That’s what he would do.  She was bound to stop in at the Crystal Palm guild compound, and if she was not there, most likely Shikai or Zhou would know where he could find her.  Crystal Palm had already offered to allow Uriel’s nascent guild and the Dunvael clan into the fold of their greater alliance.  He would be welcome there.

Of course, Zhou would know he had failed to translate his letter.  Nandao deflated. 

“Ahooooooy!” cried one of the sailors and Nandao wondered who or what they had run into in the middle of the dead calm of the sea.  He lowered the sheet and peered over its edge, watching the crew run past him with gaff hooks and coils of light cord.  Excitement ripped through the bored passengers and he saw them gathering on the starboard railing.  Orick was already there, stripping off his leather tunic so that his muscular chest was exposed to the bright sunlight.  He dived over the rail, landing with a smooth splash in the crystal clear waters amid the murmurs of the passengers.

Intrigued, Nandao climbed to his feet and shambled toward the commotion, watching as Orick swam powerfully toward a small dinghy lying upon the glassy green waters.  Rope played out behind him as the crew looked on.  No one remembered seeing the boat before, it was not one of their own.  It had just mysteriously drifted into view in a place where there was neither current nor wind.

“Witchcraft,” muttered a sailor, turning and spitting over his left shoulder superstitiously.  Nandao frowned.  He had heard tales about those who dwelt too long upon the waves.  Most of them were not pleasant.

Orick had reached the tiny boat and was looping the sodden cord through the mooring cleat upon its prow.  He tugged it carefully, then, with a powerful lunge, looped a leg over the boat’s gunwale, climbing aboard without capsizing it.  There was someone in the boat with him, unconscious by the look of it and Orick cradled the figure in his arms, seeking signs of life as the crew began hauling the dinghy toward the ship.

Soon a rope ladder was lowered and Orick slung the tiny figure over his shoulder.  At first Nandao thought she might be a child, she seemed so petite and light in the warrior’s powerful grasp.  As she was laid out on the deck, however, he realized his assessment was wrong.  Beneath the gray traveling cloak she was clad in a rich gown of black velvet and silk.  Her lovely face was delicate, framed with nut brown hair and a nose that rose slightly at its point, giving her a mischievous appearance.  The sailors backed away, squabbling among themselves as the other four paying passengers knelt down to look at her.  Of course, their gazes turned to him immediately.

“Yeah, I’m the monk,” he grumbled to himself, “I’ll make it all better.”

“Please get some water, I’ll see if I can revive her,” Nandao said to one of the women as he knelt to peruse his new patient.

“Lucky me,” he whispered, going numbly through the usual ritual of checking for breath, pulse, eye reaction.  When she failed to react to these insults, he steadied himself for an investigation of her abdomen, checking for obvious wounds that might cause such a deep state of unconsciousness.  She was still pliable and no ribs were broken.  Her skin was whole.  By the time he was done with his routine checks, a small bowl of water had arrived and was placed beside her head.

There was nothing wrong with her.  Nothing obvious in any event.  Her lips were not cracked from dehydration nor did the loose skin near her knuckles stand up from it when he pinched it.  She appeared to merely be sleeping very deeply.  Nothing for it.  Nandao upended the bowl of water on her face, gratified when she started to sputter and stir.

“Easy,” he murmured, his healer talk instinctive as he helped her sit up, allowing her to lean into his arms as she blinked, revealing eyes to match the autumn sky beneath her lustrous black lashes.  Nandao did not need to ask.  She was a mesmer as surely as he was a monk.

“Where am I?” she whispered, gazing up into his eyes with the typical searching expression of her kind.  She was checking to see if he meant to do her harm and he felt her hands tense around his arm as she caught sight of the others staring down at her.

“On the deck of the Pride of Kryta in the middle of the ocean.  Decided to go for a little boat ride, did you?”

“Thank the gods,” she moaned softly.

“I’m Brother Nandao.  The wet brute who hauled you aboard is Orick Vox,” he added as she gazed up at the dripping warrior, “and you are?”

“Brekke Wilder,” she replied wearily, “I assume I have not fallen in with pirates?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but stranger things have happened.  What were you doing out there alone in a tiny boat?” he asked.

“I was a passenger on the Mermaid going to Cantha and there was a strange storm,” she hesitated, her eyes falling upon the quarreling sailors, “They decided I was bad luck and put me on the boat to save their ship.  That is all I remember.”

Nandao nodded, noting the conspiratorial turn of her lips.

“I was alone on the other ship.  I could not stop them and these sailors are scared of me.  Please don’t let them put me back in the boat.”

Nandao frowned.  He did not like mesmers talking into his mind.  It troubled him for he wondered what else they were doing unbeknownst to him.  Yet he felt her fear and desperation.  What a cruel fate to be cast adrift like that on the open sea.  How could he not feel pity for her?

“Orick, she needs to rest somewhere calm and cool, I suspect the heat has gotten to her.  Put her in my hammock and I’ll find some food and water for her.”

“Thank you, son of Dwayna.  May your kindness be rewarded.”

Blushing he nodded to her as Orick bore her away.  Once she was out of sight, the sails rattled with the first hint of wind and the placid mirror of the open water roiled, dancing with little cats paws of white foam.  The captain shouted at them to trim the sails and their fears were forgotten in the rush to get the ship back underway.  Nandao uttered a prayer of gratitude to his matron goddess.  He idly wondered what the mesmer would have said of her time upon the empty sea had she not been so afraid.