That night, to gentle snores, Petran spread a blanket on the deck beside his bunk and curled onto his side, using his arm for a pillow. A groan sounded overhead. Petran lifted a hand, patting the boy’s unburned arm. Immediately the groaning quieted.
The moment Petran dropped his hand, the whimpers began anew.
He slept with one hand on the bunk.
The boy didn’t speak, didn’t smile, didn’t seem to hear anything Petran said, but merely nodded and accepted water and broth. Petran kept the burns clean. Though inexperienced with major injuries— Smutje saw to the more severe wounds—burns should take longer to heal, even if Petran, as Smutje said, “had a magic touch.”
On their fourth day at sea, the boy sat up, wrapping his arms around his legs like he’d done the day Petran found him. “Who are you?”
It took a moment to make out the words, thick with a Northern accent. The pirates spoke many languages and dialects at sea, and theSeabird’snative tongue included parts of them all. “I’m Petran. We’re in my cabin aboard theSeabird.” No one used surnames aboard the ship, most giving them up when they signed on as crew.
“Why did you help me?” the boy asked, voice a hoarse whisper.
“I couldn’t leave you.” Petran couldn’t explain why. Nor could he account for the mysterious force that led him to the turn in the river.
The suspicion in those blue eyes slowly eased. The boy leaned back against the pillow. “Thank you.” He patted his chest, then grimaced. Yes, he’d had a particularly nasty bruise there, now nearly healed, but still painful apparently. “I’m Arkenn.”
Petran nodded at the greeting. Arkenn. If he’d been alone, he’d have rolled the name over his tongue to sample the taste. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I brought you aboard.” Until then, there’d been no question as to bringing him. Now, Petran doubted his actions. Most pirates were suspicious of outsiders and wouldn’t have taken him in. “Is there a family looking for you?”
“No!” the boy snapped. He winced. “No. My… family is dead.”
Petran envied those with the gift of saying the right things at the right time, a trait he sorely lacked. All he managed was, “I’m sorry.”
The boy lifted his head, peering out Petran’s small porthole to the vast expanse of sea. “Where are we going?”
“We’re bound for E’Skaara, the capital city of Othor. Do you know anyone there?”
“No.” Arkenn turned away. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”
“You matter.” Petran sat on the edge of the bunk he’d surrendered to sleep on the deck.
With no warning, the boy lunged, wrapping his arms around Petran.
He cried, great, heaving sobs. Petran held him, muffling the cries against his shoulder. A world of pain flowed out with the tears, prompting many questions. No. Arkenn would share what he wanted to. So Petran held the boy in his arms for what seemed like hours, whispering nonsense words while rubbing a hand in a soothing motion up and down Arkenn’s back.
The wracking sobs subsided to the occasional sniffle. Arkenn finally released one last hiccupping sob. Petran’s father had constructed this cabin well. Few ever ventured here, and none who didn’t know its exact location would ever find the door. They were safe.
Time for a distraction. “Where are you from, Arkenn?”
“The… the Quarshi mountains.”Sniff.He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Petran handed Arkenn a fancy handkerchief acquired during a raid. He’d kept the linen square because he liked the ruffled edges. Now it would serve a use.
The Quarshi mountains. A long way from the river where they’d met. Petran lightly mussed Arkenn’s hair. “This gave it away.” He’d heard of a mountain kingdom many leagues away, where the people had white hair and yellow eyes, but those weren’t the Quarshi people with their blond hair and blue eyes.
Arkenn’s eyes widened. “You don’t think… you don’t think they’ll find me?”
“Who? Who’ll find you? Are you running from someone?” Had someone inflicted those grievous burns?
Arkenn looked away again. “No… no one. They’re all gone now.”
“Good. If they’re after you, then they should be gone.” Petran stood, fighting off the protective instincts that made his heart pound.
“No!” Arkenn grabbed at Petran’s hand. “Stay.”
Petran shifted his gaze from Arkenn to the door. Shirking duty would surely bring Da down here to check on him. “I can’t right now. I have watch. Lock the door, and don’t let anyone in but me.”
All night Petran kept watch, avoiding contact with the crew. A clear night. Lots of stars. Would Arkenn like to come above deck? No, he couldn’t. Still, Petran’s mind too often strayed to the mystery lying in his bunk.
