[maikafanawen]

Wren wrapped her arms tightly around her body and bit her lip to keep from crying. Her stomach was knotted tightly and her head hurt. Tears welled up in her eyes, fogging her view. Without warning she bolted from the room and back to her own quarters. Throwing herself on the bed she sobbed and sobbed. They were gone. Just like that. Turthôl, unconscious, had fell into the sea. What chance did he have for survival? Aerin, who had grown to be one of Wren’s close friends was gone as well. Hatred for Barodin welled up inside her and she had to work to keep herself from doing the same as Rangar had.

Footsteps entered the room and Ani Dao sat beside her on the bed, caressing her hair tenderly. Wren felt like a little child being cooed by her mother. She felt helpless and pitiful. Then the captain’s expression changed and she pulled Wren into a sitting position looking firmly into her eyes.

“Come on board and help us search. You’re doing no good in hear.” Without waiting for an answer she pulled the noblewoman off her bed and dragged her from the room. In the hall, Wren wrenched her hand loosed and followed the captain without assistance. On board it was still raining and the crew—both watches—were doing all they could to mend the stays and keep the spars in tact. The sails had furled and the Silver Wyrm was bobbing purposely in the ocean.

Wren moved alongside the wall, and gripped the railing tightly in her hands, as she made her way down to the spar deck. Tears were streaming down her face, mixed with rain. Finally she grasped the edge of the railing and looked over into the churning sea below. Swells were no smaller than six feet and the whitecaps sprayed up the sides of the helm. Wiping her eyes clear, the noblewoman searched vainly for any sign of Turthôl. There was nothing else in the ocean as far as she could see.

“I can’t see anything,” she shouted to Ani Dao through the wind. The captain nodded absently as if in thought. Then she called to Thallick who had just jumped down from the foretop. “Wren is having trouble seeing anything, Mr. Thallick, what, do you think, would help her.”

“We’re all having trouble, Captain, unless she wants to go aloft,” he said, nodding upwards. Wren started at the suggestion and then pondered it a moment.

“Good suggestion Mr. Thallick. Would ye be so kind as to help her?” The man nodded and beckoned for Wren to put her foot on the first ratline interweaving through the shrouds up for the fore course. The climb was quick, Wren’s fear had vanished completely and she was set now on recovering Turthôl, and Aerin’s body. Mr. Thallick handed her a brass and she stuffed it into her jerkin pocket, grasping the top rail with both hands, white knuckled.

With the sails up she had a complete view of the surrounding sea. Looking behind every whitecap and down every swell, it was ten minutes before she saw something: the green of Aerin’s jacket. She yelled below, catching Mr. Thallick’s attention. He looked up and she pointed. Nodding, he summoned the captain and Ani Dao ordered her body be brought aboard. Wren couldn’t watch as they lifted the shield-maiden onto the deck. Symk and Corat wrapped her in the blankets from her room and laid her on the bed, barring the door.

Wren was shivering now, not just from the chill of the rain, but also from the feeling of death that settled over the ship. She guessed it was not uncommon for sailors to go overboard in a storm, but the past two incidents were not accidental, which made it worse.

After an hour of standing in the foretop with no sign of Turthôl, Wren’s knees felt like they were going to collapse. Mr. Thallick returned.

“Come down Miss, there’s no way ye can see anything now. It’s too dark and the tide’s moved us now for ten miles,” he shook his head. “I’m real sorry Miss.” Wren stood, frozen, not wanting to believe it. ‘No,’ she mouthed into the wind. She shook her head vigorously, ‘NO’. Ani Dao had come aloft and stood by Wren on the foretop.

“You must come down Wren. He’s gone.” Wren sobbed. So he was, he was gone. Unconscious in the ocean, he was probably on his way to—to—she shook her head, forcing the idea from her mind.

“He’s alive,” she whispered to the captain. “Still alive, an-and he’s going to be okay.” Ani Dao shook her head and watched protectively as Wren descended the shroud. She saw the rest of the company on the deck also, peering out into the gloom for any sign.

Wren didn’t go back to her room. Instead she went to where Carmalita and Énien were tending to Rangar. The nurse had made him a sedative out of valerian and wine, so that Rangar could sleep peacefully as he recovered from near drowning.

“Go ahead and sleep,” said Wren entering. “I’ll stay with him for a while.” Carmalita nodded her thanks and left the room, clearly exhausted. Énien stayed, leaning up against the wall behind Rangar. Wren thanked her mentally. She didn’t want to be alone.

The candle flickered, casting dreary shadows on the walls. Wren sat down in the chair beside the bed and watched as Rangar’s chest rose and fell slowly, beads of sweat ran down his head and his eyes looked sunken in grey toned flesh. She dabbed a cool cloth to his forehead, humming very softly just so she wouldn’t cry again. Finally, his fever subsided a little and the noblewoman sat back and looked around the room. In the corner she saw Turthôl’s bag, the fife poking out of the pocket. She knew she shouldn’t, Turthôl would be angry if he knew—the thought made her smile a little—but she took the fife and held it in her hands. She didn’t play it, just sat it in her lap and traced the lines of wood, and the circumference of every delicate hole. The noblewoman was still holding it when sleep overcame her, and she drifted into a haunted slumber.