him now. He’d once asked Ikran for a position on their boat, and she’d had to throw him overboard when he didn’t like Ikran’s answer. Gorg. That was his name.
Gorg’s grin grew wider as he leaned toward her. “You still watching over that mute brat of yours?”
The jolly roger seemed to laugh as her knuckles connected with Gorg’s face, splitting the skin over his cheekbone with the force of the blow. He screamed and dropped to his knees—not incapacitated, but going for his boot knife. Jendara lashed out with her heel, launching the man backward across the room.
She hadn’t paid attention to other men at the table, but they must have been Gorg’s friends, because they exploded up from their seats, snarling. Men screamed. Knives hissed free of their scabbards. Jendara laughed and slipped her axe free of her belt.
The weapon’s haft shook with its own mirth as she brought the blunt end down on a man’s skull, then jerked her arm backward, slamming the handle’s butt into another man’s solar plexus. Both sailors dropped. Jendara looked around for more, but Grog was already draped senseless across a chair, and the last of his companions was currently dangling from Vorrin’s fist, toes not quite touching the floor.
The tavern door flew open, the low light of afternoon like a lighthouse beam cutting through the thick air. A man stood framed in the doorway. Jendara recognized him as Vorrin’s first mate. Silence filled the room.
Vorrin released the man he’d been holding up by the sweater-front. The sailor crumpled to the ground. “Tam? Something the matter?”
“Ayuh.” The word reminded Jendara that Tam was a fellow islander. He hesitated in the doorway.
“Well what, man?”
“It’s the boy.” Tam stepped inside, bobbing his head uncomfortably. “I saw a whole group of lads come racing up from the beach, laughing like loons. But Kran weren’t with ‘em.”
Jendara felt her knees go soft, and she put her hand down on the bar to steady herself.
“Looked down the beach, but there weren’t no sign of the boy. Figured we ought to go look for him.”
Jendara sheathed her axe and moved toward the door. Vorrin clapped his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t go off half-cocked.”
She shook his hand loose. “I’ve got to find my son.”
“No purpose going by yourself,” Yul warned. “Folks don’t tolerate strangers around here.”
Jendara’s lips thinned. She knew it was true—knew the close-knittedness of islanders—but resented it anyway. “He isn’t like other boys. There’s been trouble other places.”
Yul didn’t ask for details, but opened the door. “I’ll help you look for him.”
Jendara nodded curtly, rage boiling her veins, some of it residual, some of it the goddess’s, and most of it for anyone who might hurt her child. Beyond Yul’s shoulder, a knot of sniggering boys huddled under the lean-to where the donkey had waited. A growl bubbled up in Jendara’s throat.
“You don’t know they’ve done anything wrong,” Vorrin whispered.
But she did, just from their wicked laughter, their covert glances. She did know, from the hush that fell over the little group as they saw the strangers coming their way. A shiver of cold warning ran down her spine.
One of the boys held a yellow tassel between his fingers. A yellow tassel just like the ones she’d sewn onto Kran’s hat.
Chapter Two: Ill Tide
“Where’s my son?” Jendara’s voice rumbled like a great beast’s growl. Vorrin gripped her elbow, hard.
The boys stared back at her for a second, then bolted.
“Come back!” Jendara yanked her arm, but Vorrin kept his grip.
“They won’t talk to you,” he snapped. “Hell, you scare me.”
Yul chuckled. “You’re right, mainlander. The boys will run home to hide. We’ll go door to door. I know their fathers.”
But as he led them deeper into the village, a hunting horn blew a long blast, then two short. Yul stiffened. “That’s the call to town
Gorg’s grin grew wider as he leaned toward her. “You still watching over that mute brat of yours?”
The jolly roger seemed to laugh as her knuckles connected with Gorg’s face, splitting the skin over his cheekbone with the force of the blow. He screamed and dropped to his knees—not incapacitated, but going for his boot knife. Jendara lashed out with her heel, launching the man backward across the room.
She hadn’t paid attention to other men at the table, but they must have been Gorg’s friends, because they exploded up from their seats, snarling. Men screamed. Knives hissed free of their scabbards. Jendara laughed and slipped her axe free of her belt.
The weapon’s haft shook with its own mirth as she brought the blunt end down on a man’s skull, then jerked her arm backward, slamming the handle’s butt into another man’s solar plexus. Both sailors dropped. Jendara looked around for more, but Grog was already draped senseless across a chair, and the last of his companions was currently dangling from Vorrin’s fist, toes not quite touching the floor.
The tavern door flew open, the low light of afternoon like a lighthouse beam cutting through the thick air. A man stood framed in the doorway. Jendara recognized him as Vorrin’s first mate. Silence filled the room.
Vorrin released the man he’d been holding up by the sweater-front. The sailor crumpled to the ground. “Tam? Something the matter?”
“Ayuh.” The word reminded Jendara that Tam was a fellow islander. He hesitated in the doorway.
“Well what, man?”
“It’s the boy.” Tam stepped inside, bobbing his head uncomfortably. “I saw a whole group of lads come racing up from the beach, laughing like loons. But Kran weren’t with ‘em.”
Jendara felt her knees go soft, and she put her hand down on the bar to steady herself.
“Looked down the beach, but there weren’t no sign of the boy. Figured we ought to go look for him.”
Jendara sheathed her axe and moved toward the door. Vorrin clapped his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t go off half-cocked.”
She shook his hand loose. “I’ve got to find my son.”
“No purpose going by yourself,” Yul warned. “Folks don’t tolerate strangers around here.”
Jendara’s lips thinned. She knew it was true—knew the close-knittedness of islanders—but resented it anyway. “He isn’t like other boys. There’s been trouble other places.”
Yul didn’t ask for details, but opened the door. “I’ll help you look for him.”
Jendara nodded curtly, rage boiling her veins, some of it residual, some of it the goddess’s, and most of it for anyone who might hurt her child. Beyond Yul’s shoulder, a knot of sniggering boys huddled under the lean-to where the donkey had waited. A growl bubbled up in Jendara’s throat.
“You don’t know they’ve done anything wrong,” Vorrin whispered.
But she did, just from their wicked laughter, their covert glances. She did know, from the hush that fell over the little group as they saw the strangers coming their way. A shiver of cold warning ran down her spine.
One of the boys held a yellow tassel between his fingers. A yellow tassel just like the ones she’d sewn onto Kran’s hat.
Chapter Two: Ill Tide
“Where’s my son?” Jendara’s voice rumbled like a great beast’s growl. Vorrin gripped her elbow, hard.
The boys stared back at her for a second, then bolted.
“Come back!” Jendara yanked her arm, but Vorrin kept his grip.
“They won’t talk to you,” he snapped. “Hell, you scare me.”
Yul chuckled. “You’re right, mainlander. The boys will run home to hide. We’ll go door to door. I know their fathers.”
But as he led them deeper into the village, a hunting horn blew a long blast, then two short. Yul stiffened. “That’s the call to town
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