Seamark, page 9
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have been more careful.”
“I shouldn’t have left you,” Morgan whispered.
“You see?” a high, nasal voice insisted from somewhere off to the left. “I told you he betrayed us with this human! I told you he was false, and now you know it’s true!”
That was Drenikel, Garen’s loathsome cousin … but then who was holding Auban captive? Morgan lifted his face and looked up at the shadow looming over them and saw—
Oh shit. Brevaer.
Chapter seventeen
“All this time.”
Morgan had never heard his brother’s voice like this. Low, deep to the point of guttural, and absolutely without mercy. There was nothing of kindness in this voice, nothing of love and family. There was nothing but cold anger and even colder duty.
“All these months,” Brevaer went on, piercing Morgan to the core with the sharpness of his gaze, “that I thought you were changing for the better, developing a sense of responsibility at long last. All the training, the work, the effort … and it was all spent hiding this disgrace?” He jerked Auban’s head back, making him wince with pain. Morgan whimpered and reached for him, but his brother pressed his foot into Morgan’s chest and half shoved, half kicked him back. “You’ve been harboring an enemy under our very noses?”
“I told you!” It was Drenikel again, gloating over the scene. “I told you all! Morgan would not know a true day’s labor if it came to him bedecked in flowers and singing a song! He’s turned on the whole village, spurned us to harbor a human! He’s a traitor to us all!”
There were murmurs from the crowd—how much of a crowd, Morgan couldn’t tell, because he couldn’t take his eyes off Auban. His mate’s neck was held back at a cruel angle, and forcing him onto his knees like this had to be exacerbating his injuries terribly. “Let him go,” Morgan begged his brother. “At least let him sit upright, please! You’re hurting him!”
“Why shouldn’t he be hurt?” Brevaer bellowed. “Why shouldn’t he feel pain, after all the pain he and his kind have caused us? He came here to kill us, Morgan! He came in a ship of war, full of men armed with blades and worse. He came with fire-dust and harpoons, ready to do us all in. What sort of mercy should I grant him for that except a quick death?”
“No!” Morgan screamed the word, drawn up from the depths of his soul. “Don’t kill him!”
“Why not?”
“Because I love him!”
There were shouts of horror, of dismay—and of terrible glee from Drenikel and his friends, but Morgan was still focused solely on Auban, who gave him the ghost of a smile as he mouthed the words right back.
I love you too.
Gods, his heart was breaking. This couldn’t happen, it couldn’t. If he watched his own brother kill his mate, Morgan would lose his mind.
“He is even more of a traitor now!” Drenikel roared above the din, shaking a spear over his head. “He’s given his heart to one who would have wiped out our entire village! He should be killed as well!”
That seemed to knock Brevaer out of his wrath, and a look of dismay crossed his face. “Absolutely not,” he snapped.
“Spoken like a soft-hearted fool,” Drenikel said with a sneer. “It’s clear where the line of your loyalty to us really lies, Brevaer. You had the audacity to present yourself as a leader to our people, and yet you lack the discipline to punish your own dishonorable brother. If you won’t do it, then I will!” He leapt forward with his spear, thrusting it toward Morgan’s chest.
Morgan didn’t do anything to block it even though he easily could have—his time training with Garen and Auban hadn’t been completely wasted. He let it happen, though, not looking away from Auban, who stared at him with horror as the point began its inevitable descent into his heart.
I would rather die with you than live after watching you die.
The attack was stopped, though—not by Brevaer and not by Morgan, but by Garen. He had his own spear outstretched, knocking Drenikel’s to the side as he lunged forward to place himself between Morgan and the rest of them.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarled, clearly out of breath but no less fierce for it. Morgan pressed his face to the back of Garen’s thigh, his breath hitching with the realization that he had only narrowly avoided death. He risked a glance at his brother—Brevaer looked poleaxed, like he was barely able to follow what was happening. For the first time, Morgan felt nothing but contempt for the sibling he had revered from birth.
You know nothing. Nothing at all.
“He’s a traitor!” Drenikel insisted, but there were murmurs of discontent now.
“It don’t mean you can just kill him,” one elder spoke up.
“Who gave you the right?” another asked.
“He’s young! Surely that must afford him some understanding,” one of the women said.
“His guilt is undeniable!” Drenikel shouted. “And he hasn’t even tried to deny it! He preserved the life of this human in secret, it—it’s a betrayal of everything we stand for!”
“The human doesn’t remember anything!” That was Garen again, speaking up when Morgan couldn’t—and neither he nor Auban could, Auban because no one cared what a human had to say, and Morgan because his throat was too tight with fear and grief. “He washed ashore without a single memory, gravely injured. Should Morgan just have let him die, then?”
“Wait.” Drenikel sounded interested now. “You knew about this?”
“Not at first,” Garen said stiffly. “But yes, I found out eventually.”
“And you didn’t report it to any of us?”
“No.”
“Another traitor!” He sounded terribly, horribly excited.
Brevaer spoke next, and there was no excitement in his voice. Only betrayal. “You knew,” he rumbled. “And you said nothing to me as well.”
“I could not,” Garen told him. “I swore to Morgan I would keep my silence.”
“Then you truly have no loyalty toward me, do you?” Brevaer let go of Auban, who slumped to the ground in a daze. “You’ve been playing me this whole time in an effort to help my brother hide his dirty little secret, haven’t you? Everything we talked about, the moments we shared … they mean nothing to you.”
“You’re wrong. They mean so much to me,” Garen said in earnest. “But I could never betray my oldest friend. And Auban has done nothing but help us better ourselves as soon as he was able to.”
“Better yourself how?” Brevaer growled.
“In fighting, in defense …”
“You think you are a fighter now, thanks to this filth’s efforts?” Brevaer grabbed Drenikel’s spear from his hands with ease, making the younger man yelp with surprise. “Then fight me. Show me how much this human has taught you.”
Garen was shaking—from fear or sadness, Morgan didn’t know. Nevertheless, he took a step forward. Morgan cried out as his friend moved away, and Garen turned back and laid a gentle hand on his head. “It’s all right,” he said, staring into Morgan’s eyes. There was no lie there.
Morgan knew, in that moment, that he had grossly underestimated his friend. Garen was the best person he knew—not Brevaer, certainly not himself. Garen had bravery without end, and Morgan did not deserve it … but … “It’s all right,” Garen repeated, then let go of Morgan and moved forward, placing his spear in a ready position.
Brevaer attacked, and Garen answered.
The breath caught in Morgan’s throat as he watched two of the three people he held dearest in the world attack each other like they were trying to kill each other—which, judging from the scowl on his brother’s face, he at least was. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t move at all as Brevaer, massive yet swift, as inexorable as the tide, struck at Garen with no respite, no pulling of his own strength. And Garen …
Garen answered it. Every strike, he had a reply for—every combination, he parried and matched. He avoided trips, redirected sweeping blows that a few months ago would have taken him off his feet, and when he could not move out of the way, met force with force in a display of strength that had the other villagers murmuring at his increased strength and skill. He was incredible … but he was totally defensive, not striking back, not even trying to get the upper hand against Brevaer.
He loves you, Morgan wanted to scream. He loves you, you fool! Why can’t you see it? Isn’t love more important than punishing him for helping me? But the words stuck in his throat, stuck like everything else, paralyzing him. The only thing that managed to jolt him out of his fugue was the arrival of Auban, still bound, crawling over to his side.
“Morgan,” he breathed, levering himself painfully to his knees and pressing their foreheads together once more. “We have to stop this. Tell your brother to stop, and I’ll leave. I’ll leave right now.”
No! “Please.” Morgan didn’t even know what he was pleading for anymore. For things to go back to how they had been yesterday, perhaps, when he had his brother’s love and Garen’s friendship and Auban’s admiration without any of them conflicting with each other. “Please …”
“Morgan!”
There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Morgan turned just in time to see Garen fall at last, taken down by a blow that should never have landed—would never have landed if he’d been attacking with intent—and the follow-up strike was going to sever half his neck if it landed.
Morgan couldn’t let that happen. He threw himself forward, covering Garen’s body with his and squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the spear to stab him instead.
The fatal blow never came. A heartbeat turned into a breath turned into a few seconds, then five, then ten. When Morgan finally opened his eyes, he peeked up to see his brother staring down at him, his spear halted less than a foot from Morgan’s face.
No matter what happened next, Morgan knew he would never forget the way Brevaer looked right now, like his heart had been ripped right out of his chest.
It was a feeling Morgan knew well.
Chapter eighteen
“Please, let me leave.”
The first voice to break the terrible silence was Auban’s. Morgan wanted to shout at him, to tell him to be silent and safe, but there was no such thing as safe now. Not anymore. If this was the only chance he could get to speak, then he would take it. Of course he would. Auban was brave too, brave like Garen. Morgan turned his head to stare at his mate, wishing he could go to him but unable to tear himself away from his best friend, shuddering beneath him. Auban saw him watching and looked at him calmly as if to say, It’s all right.
It wasn’t, but there was nothing Morgan could do about that now.
“I never intended to stay, I swear it,” Auban went on. “Truly, I remember nothing from before waking up on this beach.” He gestured to the scars that covered his body. “I’m as surprised as any of you that I survived. It’s only because of Morgan’s kind heart that I didn’t die like everyone else.”
“You should have!” Drenikel shouted, but he was immediately shushed by someone else.
“I know I don’t belong here, and I know I can’t stay. All I ask is that you let me leave now, with my oath that if I live to be rescued, I will never tell a soul about the Agnarra or your island.”
“Why should we believe you?” This was one of the elders, pushing forward. He was also heavily scarred, and the look he gave Auban was serious but not furious. “Why should we trust you with our very lives, when your people have proven yourselves incapable of honor?”
“I know you have suffered at the hands of humans,” Auban said somberly. “I know that—”
“You know nothing!” another elder snapped. “I lost all three of my children and two of my grandchildren to your last attack! What do you know of the pain I carry in my heart? What do you know of the weight I hold in my soul?”
“I admit that I don’t know the intimacy of your pain,” Auban replied. “But I know how fiercely you love each other. You’re a strong, and strongly connected, people. I know that you love your children, and that the last thing you want is for any of them to suffer. Please.” He spread his hands. “Don’t take my existence here out on Morgan or Garen. They were only being kind, and I know it’s a kindness I neither earned nor deserve. But if you love them, I beg of you. Don’t hurt them.”
Drenikel sniffed. “You presume a great deal to think that killing you would hurt them.”
“Morgan says he loves the brute,” one of the women said sourly.
“Then killing him would be an object lesson for Morgan, one he would get over in due time!”
“No!” Morgan finally found his voice again. He pressed a kiss to the back of Garen’s head, then pressed to his feet. Ignoring his brother’s gaze, Morgan walked over to Auban on unsteady legs, finally taking his hand. “I love him,” he said, turning defiantly to stare at his people. He still couldn’t meet Brevaer’s eyes, but he made sure to meet Drenikel’s. “Perhaps it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. My heart is given, and I wouldn’t undo it for anything. If you kill Auban, you’re going to have to kill me too.” And I will fight you with everything I have in me.
“No one is killing anyone.” That was Brevaer, finally. His voice was still low and dark but steady now. “This is why you worked on the boat, isn’t it? You wanted him to have a means of getting away from the island.”
“Yes,” Morgan said quietly.
“It isn’t really lost, is it?”
“No. It’s tied up over there.” He pointed to the ledge where Auban had been living for months now.
“You always intended for him to leave.”
Morgan recognized what his brother was doing for him. He hated it, but he recognized it, and he knew he needed to take advantage of it for Auban’s sake. Even if the rift between him and Brevaer never mended, at least he could count on his brother’s protection in this. “Yes.”
“That’s no excuse!” Drenikel insisted. “That the human was brought here in the first place is—”
“He washed ashore,” Garen croaked, finally finding his own voice. “He came here on his own, and Morgan tended to him after that.” He stood up and shook the tension from his limbs. “We tend to visitors. That’s one of our oldest laws of hospitality.”
“It doesn’t apply to humans!” someone else called out. “They’re murderers!”
“He might be a man, but he’s harmless,” Garen replied scornfully. “Or do you think that he could defend himself against even the smallest of us right now? Look at him! He’s about to fall over in this wind.”
Morgan knew Garen was playing up Auban’s weakness as a tactic, but it was still disconcerting to see people nodding in agreement. Auban had gone incredibly pale, his scars standing out lividly on his skin, and he was trembling. Morgan wrapped one of Auban’s arms over his shoulders before the other man could protest. “Let me,” he whispered. “Please.” Any complaint his mate might have made subsided.
The elder who had stepped up to speak directly to Auban—one of those who had given Morgan no end of “advice” when it came to making the boat—finally nodded, then looked at Brevaer. “It would do no good to take this to the chief,” he said plainly. “He is unreasonable on the topic of humans. The best thing we can do now is make sure this man leaves as swiftly as possible.”
Morgan’s heart lightened even as Drenikel roared in indignation. “Now you don’t want to involve the chief? How dare you! I’ll make sure he hears of this!” He and his cronies took off at a run back toward the village.
“Well, that’s that,” the old man said with a sigh. “You need to get him gone before they get back, or we’ll all be in a mess.”
“I can try to stall him,” Garen said. He turned to Morgan and Auban, his face filled with remorse. “I’m sorry it ended like this. I … you were good company.”
“You were a good friend,” Auban said softly. “Be well, Garen.” Garen nodded, then began to lope southward along the path that Morgan had walked at least once a day ever since Auban came to them.
“Here.” The elder undid the satchel around his shoulder and tossed it over to land at Morgan’s feet. “It’s got fresh water and a few meals in it and a decent set of hooks. Enough to keep a man alive if he knows how to fish.”
Auban inclined his head. “Thank you.”
“Here.” Another satchel came flying at them. “Yam cakes and an extra cloak.”
Then another. “Fish jerky.”
And another. “My second-best line and a fire starter.” That was a generous gift indeed. A few more donations made a not-inconsiderable pile, and then people began to disperse.
That was it. It was time for Auban to leave. Right now. Right … right now.
Oh no. Morgan’s heart wasn’t ready, but there was nothing for it. If the chief found Auban, he would certainly kill him—the madness that lived in him didn’t allow for any other outcome. And if Morgan tried to stop him, he would be killed as well.
“Brother.”
How had Brevaer gotten so close? Morgan must have been lost in his own mind. “We’re leaving,” he said flatly, not wanting to talk about it.
“Both of you?” The pain in Brevaer’s voice made Morgan pause.
“I’m only going to take him as far as the Spit.” The Spit was the nearest island to them, with nothing to make it into a home, but at least it would serve as a decent midpoint for Auban, a place where he could catch some more food and ready his supplies before putting to sea.
“Ah.” The silence between them filled with unsaid words that nonetheless echoed in Morgan’s ears. Auban was the one to finally break it.
“I’ll make sure he comes back soon,” he said, and Morgan shut his eyelids against the flood of tears that suddenly pressed against them.
“Very well. I …” Brevaer sounded conflicted. “I wish this hadn’t happened,” he said at last. “I wish you were someone who Morgan could bring home proudly. I’ve never seen him as … as engaged, as lively, as he’s been these past few months. It’s clear that you … you’ve been good for him.”
