Episode 4:
The Legend of Charwan Kan

"I  ONCE KNEW A MAN NAMED CHARWAN KAN," said Captain El-Antiague, "a meddler in the blackest of arts who some said had trained with the sorcerers of Manoori, though he was not of their race.  Others, though, said his history was stranger still.  I know not."  His hard eyes met Neekin's across the table.  "I bought his help in a certain...matter.  You are young and reckless, so perhaps you will understand.  I was cocky and arrogant then, aye, and without scruples.  When the matter was attended to I had my retainers fall on him and his so that the true details of the commission would never be known.  They slew all.  All save the chief object of the assault.  In this they failed.  In this I failed."  The goblet trembled.  "And Charwan Kan unleashed his vengeance.  My younger brother fell to fever and my sister was torn apart by wild hounds within that very year.  After that he vanished for a time, disappearing even in rumour.  I prospered as a seamerchant and even managed to forget about him.  Eventually, I became a husband. 

"On my wedding night, a black ship sailed quietly into the town harbour and a band of strangely mute warriors dragged my Dorial to sea, Charwan Kan's laughter echoing across the waves.  I have hunted him since, in ports and on the high seas, first with my own ships, my own crews.  Then, when my fortune had been exhausted, I sought commissions in the navies of others."  He placed the cup down; his hand shook and wine spilled, staining his fingers scarlet.  "That is who we seek, girl, and that is why."

Quietly, the meal done, Neekin returned to her cabin.  Alombo was waiting for her on the bunk.  "How went your meeting?" he asked, a grim set to his face.

She closed the door.  "The black ship-?"

"Is known and feared in coastal villages.  Only recently has it returned to Zimagrawan waters, attacking and stealing supplies...and even the corpses of the men who take arms against her, no doubt for some hellish Manoori ritual.  Perhaps she's crewed by cannibals, I know not.  But El-Antiague's knowledge of her made for a fine resume.  He was given a commission and a ship to hunt her down.  In the last port we made, the cocksun of a merchant vessel claimed to have spotted her heading toward Xarolouth."

"And you've followed to rescue his wife?"

He shook his head.  "To avenge her."

"The captain said-"

"The captain-"  He stopped, closed his eyes, then began again.  "The captain's wife was stolen almost seven years ago."  He looked up.

Neekin stared, open-mouthed. 

"Do you really think she's alive?" he asked.  "El-Antiague has lost his...perspective.  We hunt the black ship, and when we're finally cable distance, we'll baptise her with her crew's blood, but I do not expect to be rescuing any lost maidens."

"Then why follow him?  A deluded captain on an impossible quest sounds like an ominous formula to me."

"Three years ago, El-Antiague saved my life by fighting off six men to whom I owed some money...and who wanted my heart.  Debts like that are not easily repaid.  I've served with him in three fleets since...and been thrown out of two along side him for exceeding his mandate.  Four, no doubt, when we make it back."

"You sound confident we will make it back.  I've learned that life is rarely so predictable."  She stopped and cocked her head.  "And that you must grab moments for yourself where you can."

He shook his head.  "I don't understand."

She stared at him mutely, then casually undid her belt and shrugged out of her shirt, letting it drop to her feet.  He stared, literally breathless, at her nakedness.  Then she stepped forward and the bunk dipped as she sat beside him.  "I guess I'm asking you to stay."

He hesitated, then gently traced the disk of her right nipple with his fingers.  "I've met female mercenaries before, but they tend to be a defiantly celibate lot."

She shrugged.  "To each her own."  Then she leaned forward and kissed him. 

Inflamed, he crushed her supple form to his. 

                                 *     *     *

Neekin lay stretched out on her stomach, her head resting on her crossed arms.  El-Antiague's unhappy tale lingered and the sight of that hollow man floated spectrally before her eyes.  She was glad of the comforting warmth beside her, and the heat still lingering between her legs.

"The men think you a portent of success," Alombo said quietly, absently stroking her with one lazy hand. 

Neekin, dozing languidly, lifted her head.  "Me?" she asked.

"Aye.  The sea tossed you up to us, and then you save us all with that mad stunt with the sea beast."

"I am not blamed for Gannah dying in my stead?"

The hand fondling her ceased moving. "Well, some of the men think you a good omen. And they say the gods are with us." 

"And the others?"

He shrugged. "They are superstitious and this ocean causes one's thoughts to grow dark. But they'll mind their places."

"I put my faith -- or my lack of it -- in men and what they do," Neekin said pointedly, "not signs or superstitions."

He rolled to face away from her.  "Then you are fortunate.  That's a luxury most cannot afford."  He said nothing further, giving the appearance of sleep. 

                                 *     *     *

Clouds roiled in the sky, giving a twilight cast to the heavens, though it was only midday. The water glistened like liquid obsidian and now that they had met one of the savage denizens that plied its depths, no man could stare at Xarolouth without a dry mouth and a nervous stomach.

Neekin stood upon the aft deck, watching the white foam of the ship's wake, fleeting pale scars to be instantly healed over by the black morass. The tangy air tossed her sandy hair as she stared at the empty horizon. She heard the creak of the deck behind her and felt Alombo's strong arms curl around her. She grinned as he nuzzled her neck. "I thought you wanted to keep our relationship professional on deck?"

"I like that you wear nothing beneath your skirt," he said hoarsely. "And the men have their chores. We are alone."

"Have you seen the islands to the port?" she breathed between clenched teeth as a hand slipped inside her shirt to cup a full breast.

"Aye," he murmured, more intent on exploring the mounds beneath his hands than those rising from the water. "We're watching them. But they're a ways off and I've seen no sign of life on them. The captain says to give them a wide berth, but we'll need supplies at some point."

Neekin gripped the rail tighter and moaned --

"Darkhim's Blood!" came a shout.

Instantly Alombo pulled away and spun about -- but the exclamation had nothing to do with them. The look out was leaning to one side, clearly astounded.

Alombo raced to the port side and Neekin, a little flushed, followed. "What is it?" the mate demanded.

"The bastard who killed Gannah," shouted the look out. "We've found him again -- he's still swimming, the Devil!"

"A day and some and he's still swimming?" exclaimed Alombo, incredulous.

"I was that long on the water," Neekin reminded him. But of course, she had not kept up a steady stroke all that time, and was almost dead from exhaustion when they had found her. Then she said, "You realize he's headed towards those islands?"

Alombo glanced at her, her words taking a moment to have their effect. Then he shouted across the deck, "All the speed you can! Let's not lose him again now that we're so close. I'd pry answers from his lips ere he can rejoin his master, Charwan Kan!"

Within minutes, the sails snapped tighter as they swelled with the wind, the stays creaked, and the Falcon's Heart surged forward like a hound straining at its leash. 

                                 *     *     *

If the sea reminded Neekin of polished obsidian at times, then the islands that stabbed up around them were like harsh, jagged shards of the  same. The stone was black and the vegetation seemed to cling to it listlessly and without hope. They were flakes of land, for the most part, rather than true islands, like cays, but the larger ones were big enough for their quarry to hide upon.

Alombo put a man to sounding the water as the vessel now crawled cautiously forward -- so many pieces of land together were doubtless connected beneath the water, and he did not want to tear out the ship's keel on an undersea bank. They had almost overtaken their quarry, whose steady strokes had not been interrupted once as they watched. It was almost unnatural, but no man aboard had said so out loud.

Now that they had dropped back speed, and were feeling their way forward, they were still gaining, but only slowly.

"Too late," Neekin hissed under her breath, speaking to no one as Alombo was away issuing commands. Her ill-matched eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared in a primal way as she watched the little, dark figure stagger out of the water and throw himself into the concealing brush on one of the larger cays.

"Damnation!" roared Alombo, obviously having espied the action. "Drop a boat," he shouted. "We're going ashore!"

Neekin frowned, feeling a knot clench in her belly. Alombo was threatening to become as obsessed with his own mini-quest as the captain was with his major one. Of course, he no doubt felt an extra twinge of guilt over Gannah's death -- Neekin had volunteered to check out the drifting boat, after all, but Alombo had ordered the sailor to do it instead. And if this was truly a man of Charwan Kan's, capturing him could be useful in finding the black ship's master. Neekin had little doubt that Alombo wanted to bring this enterprise to a head as soon as possible. Sailing Xarolouth's waves tended to have a wearing effect -- the ocean was unnatural, and the sooner they were headed for a familiar port, the better.

But that did not mean throwing caution aside like a dangling scarf about one's neck.

These cays looked desolate and untrod, but Neekin remembered the tales she'd heard of sailors who drifted too far onto Xarolouth's breast and passed dark islands from whence issued strange chanting sounds.

Perhaps these eruptions of dirt were not without their sentient inhabitants.

Her palms felt sweaty and, unconsciously, she rubbed them upon her bare thighs. Soon Alombo would call for volunteers for a landing party, and she knew she should keep her mouth shut. But she also knew that her senses were keener than most at the best of time, and particularly among a gang of sailors more accustomed to the see-sawing of a deck than firm land.

If they were to have any hope of finding the man, she would have to head the search...