Queen's Man: of Balance

By AnnaMarieAlt

To avert a devastating war, Great Queen Rejeena must prove to male-centric Mainlanders enholdment has been abolished on Kriiscon. During the conference, the goddess LaSheena reveals to Rejeena a great truth, the answer to many enflaming hurdles dividing persons, communities, races, religions, and nations—possibly the answer to peace everywhere for all time. A simple concept, but how can she present it, thereby convincing others to believe, accept and utilize?

Rejeena aborns a son. A Kriisconian Great Queen cannot keep a son; but Aarvan will not tolerate such rejection. Can queen and queen’s man find a solution to this predicament?

Despite all Rejeena’s and Aarvan’s endeavors, Mainland warships, carrying thousands of soldiers armed with cannons and guns, attack Kriiscon to conquer, force upon the island their fanatic religion and intrusive culture. What can Kriiscon offer to combat such determined, superior forces? Simultaneously, the lifelong feud between Rejeena and Ishtabarra demands resolution, a battle to the death. Dare she indulge?

After years of sacrifice and effort by Kriisconians—women, men and glaalets—to integrate as a peaceful island, how can Rejeena and Aarvan prevent it all shattering into a crushing, calamitous defeat?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669819004

AnnaMarieAlt

AnnaMarieAlt enjoys a passion for writing romantic fantasy fiction, building otherworldly realms. Her two careers, the military followed by civil service, exposed her to varied cultures, races, religions, and beliefs stateside and abroad—England, Continental Europe, the Far East, the South, North, Southeast, Hawaii and Kentucky, where she now resides. This exposure granted her a rounded view of the world and a host of invaluable knowledge that she now brings to her fantasy creations. These experiences, earning a college degree, while surviving and supporting the Women’s Liberation Movement launched her understanding of herself as a woman and a writer. She writes to convey her myriad experiences, because she cannot not write—to share the legacy of a lifetime and accept that we are all human. AnnaMarie has written the Queen’s Man series, an adventurous, romantic fantasy, about the island of Kriiscon, where women rule and men are slaves. The series encompasses the struggle between a domineering but curse-haunted queen and a mysterious, audacious Mainland man, the twisted struggle between women and men for supremacy, culminating in the battle of star-crossed empires. Her words expose the ugly underbelly of the human race and illumine the power of virtue, while following the grinding agony of a culture in the throes of change. Life’s ambition: Fully grown, AnnaMarie wants to be just like Granny Clampett.

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Copyright © 2022 by AnnaMarieAlt.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/10/2022

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

834051

The Queen’s Man Series:

A twisted, epic tale of the struggle between woman and man for supremacy, and the battle between opposing life creeds.

In their world, the series parallels battles raging in ours today.

1. Queen’s Man: Into The Inferno (Available Now)


2. Queen’s Man: Beyond The Corridor (Available Now)

3. Queen’s Man: Conflict (Available Now)


4. Queen’s Man: Enter The Caana (Available Now)

5. Queen’s Man: Treachery (Available Now)

6. Queen’s Man: Decision (Available Now)

7. Queen’s Man: Paaerta Hunt (Available Now)

8. Queen’s Man: Discovery (Available Now)

9. Queen’s Man: Of Glaalet Kind (Available Now)

10. Queen’s Man: Karma (Available Now)

11. Queen’s Man: Noxious Negotiations (Available Now)

12. Queen’s Man: Of Balance (Available Now)

Twelve Books in Series

Website: www.annamariealt.com

Women rule on the island of Kriiscon and hold all men as slaves. On the opposite shore, men rule the Mainland and treat women as mere chattel.

A decade-long curse denies haughty Queen Rejeena of Kriiscon the greatest gift from their goddess, the gift of daughters. Coupled with the threat of assassination from her outlaw cousin, Rejeena’s very existence and happiness hang steeped in jeopardy.

The queen’s life changes forever when a Mainland man, Aarvan, plagued with no memory, awakens on Kriiscon. Rejeena claims him as her queen’s man. The island’s way of life infuriates and repels Aarvan, yet a potent, exotic attraction binds Rejeena and him together. Even as conflicts rage, both their own and those of outside forces, their passion deepens.

The island is plagued with conflict—assassination efforts; posses of men battling for independence; more powerful, lustful queens; developing disloyalty within the queen’s guard ranks. Aarvan and Rejeena must battle all foes, who seek to separate and destroy them—emanating from both the Mainland, with vast numbers and superior weapons, and Kriiscon itself.

Ultimately, queen and queen’s man must confront each other, seek to overcome cruelty, intolerance and injustice as they build a bridge to harmony and love—a long journey fraught with adventure, intrigue and mortal danger. All the while, standing together, they must strive to gratify the Mainland, unite the raging forces upon the island, and control the destiny of Kriiscon.

Is such a harmony of feats even possible?

"I

hated you for fourteen seasons, the auburn-haired youngster said. Some of me hates you still." His forest green eyes glowed with a peculiar mixture of defiance, trepidation, expectation.

A pair of doppelganger eyes met his, framed by the same auburn locks, face older, feminine—but uniquely the same. I cannot in honesty say I blame you, said Rejeena, Great Queen of Kriiscon. The manner in which women disposed of male offsp . . . babies, I, in my fresh enlightenment of mind and spirit, now realize stood horrid, undeniably unconscionable. She sipped from her wine chalice, almost choking as a particularly large ocean swell rocked the ship on which they rode.

Coughing, she glanced to the right at her Great Queen’s Man, Aarvan, a man too handsome by far, gilded with lean, defined musculature; but who lived every moment as though unaware or uncaring of the gorgeous sight he offered any or all women. He met her eyes, smiling encouragement.

Rejeena cut her gaze to the left, to Haandron, Chief Foredoyan of the Coastal Strip Fellows, the auburn-locked youngster’s pakka. He sat impassive, silent, dark eyes like hard marbles. His slight frame, clad in mixed cotton and wool trousers overlaid by a long leather tunic, appeared lost in the large, cushioned chair. Four thick red circles enclosed the embroidered clam on his jerkin, denoting his leadership status.

Rejeena displayed a rueful smile. Zaayd, it would become ludicrous for me to continue apologizing to you and your pakka. Words cannot undo the harm done to your inner person, knowing you were left as a tiny infant to be slaughtered, consumed by wild creatures. The Great Queen paused, swallowed, a lump of regret constricting her throat. In truth, I cannot say I would have stopped Graman had I known her intent, though I truly had no inkling of her vicious decision. Her gaze moved between Haandron and the youngster.

The hour of your aborning stood a particularly difficult time in my life. I had previously birthed a . . . male baby and a daughter. Graman, in that instance, had her women deliver the boy to the missions for placement on the Mainland. She paused, took a deep breath. My daughter, Gannafela, a blessing of LaSheena, engulfing me with great joy—but briefly—died after only three days. Though devastated, upon Graman’s demand, I tried again. You, Zaayd, aborned. For a young woman of my position, Staff Scion of Quarter Seven, the condition seemed devastating. Two tries but no daughter. As you may or may not know, the single most vital accomplishment for a Kriisconian woman is the acquisition of daughters. Fate seemed determined to continually deny me such great attainment. Through no fault of mine, I had been cursed before my aborning; the Queen’s Line of my mother was to wither and die. Though I tried to ignore the curse, it claimed my daughter.

A curse? Really? Skepticism etched the lines of the boy’s face, eyes rolling.

Yes, Zaayd, I believed. Occurrences happen which cannot be explained within our knowledge. Rejeena continued, As for you, I did not pay proper attention. I presumed Graman delivered you, as others usually were, to the border missions, or perhaps sold you to a geetri. She paused; her eyes dropped, then lifted to meet his. I should have queried, but did not. Graman stood a malevolent old woman; I lived in great fear of her. Young and foolish, I believed the mores of my culture. It did not occur to me, in my youthful folly, those mores might be wrongful. She lowered her chin, closed her eyes. I hold within more sorrow, more regret, more chastisement of self than I can ever express.

Rejeena rose from her seat, staggered sideways as another roll of the sea tossed the ship.

Aarvan leaped to grab her, steady her. Things seem to be getting a bit rough. He waved her back to her chair. Sit down, please, My Great Queen. You’re too completed to be flung about by ship rocking. He walked toward the door. I’ll go check this out. You continue talking. He left.

Haandron leaned back. I have heard, Great Queen, your queen’s man suffered through a very rough upbringing. His eyes flickered sideways to his fokka.

Well, yes . . . Rejeena faltered, unsure why the Foredoyan would broach this subject. Why would you . . .?

Haandron rested his elbows on the chair arms. Sondaarn, my pakka, reared me to hate all women, all queens’ men, most holdees, vilify and ignore the rest of the men who inhabit our island. Considering most persons not of our fellow group to be unacceptable was our way of life. He cocked his head, seeking the right words. Once I became of age, began to think for myself, I grew uncomfortable with the assumption that anyone, not of the Coastal Strip Fellows, was evil or stupid.

Aarvan reentered. Excuse me, Haandron, for the interruption. There is a storm brewing, but the skippress feels it won’t present any great danger. He took his seat beside Rejeena’s desk, pointing a finger at her. You stay in your chair. If you need anything, I’ll get it. That child growing inside you is precious. He gestured to Haandron. Please continue.

The Foredoyan rubbed a hand across his bearded chin. Despite my personal misgivings, I continued to act as a man of hate, the stance expected of me in my position. But I do not want my fokka growing to know nothing but hatred and malice. He cleared his throat. I want Zaayd to understand his life is not the only one touched by cruelty and misery. Once he compares others’ suffering with his own, he will hopefully learn compassion. He gestured to Rejeena. You have begun the process of stopping, and perhaps correcting, some of the horrid way of life practiced on this island. We men and boys—he laid a hand on Zaayd’s knee—need to respond in kind.

Rejeena glanced at Aarvan. Haandron has requested the tale of your early life.

You feel this story needed, Haandron? Aarvan grimaced. I don’t enjoy the telling.

If the telling were pleasant, Haandron said, it would be of little value to my fokka. Yes, I feel it necessary.

Aarvan hunched his shoulders, took a slow, deep breath, then relaxed. He gave a concise account of the story of his childhood. How, at seven years of age, he brought down and pummeled his father to protect his mother—who had suffered past beatings at her husband’s hands. His father responded, with the assistance of his brother, Aarvan’s uncle, by selling the child like an animal to Cuttler’s Squadal, a place which bought or stole children, beat them into submission, then trained them to be assassins. He related how he escaped at fourteen. During his escape, he discovered that over the years, Cuttler and his controllers had disposed of children who did not meet their standards.

Aarvan coughed, swallowed hard. The smarmy bastards drowned them in a nearby lake, any girls raped before being drowned. He paused, eyes clenched, fists wrapped around his chair arms. The eyes opened, fixing upon Haandron and Zaayd, allowing them a glimpse of the infamous lethal rage, which lived inside the Great Queen’s Man—launched by this discovery, but already born, though lying fallow, by the horrors of his childhood.

At fourteen, your age—he looked directly at Zaayd—I began my career as a killer, twisting something vital inside me, destroying any last remnants of innocence. I killed all three controllers involved that day, then continued my escape with the two children they meant to rape and drown.

Silence, as a dismal shroud, draped the room for long moments.

Haandron, dark eyes intense, his sharp, thin face betraying hope coupled with demand, stared at his fokka.

The boy wriggled in his seat, young face pursing. His green eyes swiveled from his pakka, to Rejeena, to Aarvan, back to Rejeena. I . . . I never thought much about . . . about you having problems and stuff, too. I just . . . sort of hated you—he met Rejeena’s eyes—because you left me to die. And you—he waved a hand at Aarvan—because queens’ men are disgusting traitors. His gaze dropped to scrutinize the toes of his doeskin boots. I thought you a rotten harpy, he told Rejeena. To Aarvan, And you a rat bastard dote. His hands clasped in his lap, eyes filled with an accusatory but discomfited light, as he glanced at his pakka. No one ever said . . . His gaze switched to Rejeena. "I didn’t think about . . . about why you might have done what you did."

Zaayd sat back, closed his eyes then opened them—almost a symbolic gesture. I . . . hate you a lot less now. He hastened to add, But I still don’t like you.

Rejeena used her kindest, warmest tone. You need not, Zaayd. Your moving away from complete hatred encompasses great progress. Following that which I allowed to be perpetrated upon you as a baby, acceptance is as much as I may anticipate, perhaps more than I deserve. Green eyes clinched with green across the floor space. I thank you, from my deepest inner woman, for your lowered level of hatred.

Zaayd squirmed and glanced at Haandron. I don’t know what to say, Pakka.

Haandron smiled, rising to his feet. It is not necessary for you to say anything at this point, my fokka. He turned to Rejeena. Thank you, O Great Queen, for your time and audience. We have moved toward both our goals, I believe. He walked to Aarvan, offering his hand in the Mainland manner.

Aarvan rose, accepting the hardy shake.

The Foredoyan smiled. You were right about the transference. I transferred my justified hatred of women to you. I did not even know you, but made unfounded assumptions about your character from my own biased beliefs. So, I despised you. I was wrong. His smile warped into the smirk of a naughty boy. But I had to let my fellows have a little fun with you.

Incidents forgotten, Aarvan said. A little bird shit on a man’s head never hurt him. He shrugged. Those pants were about worn out anyway.

They laughed, the merriment extending to both sets of eyes.

Zaayd stopped beside his pakka. I like your sister, he said to Aarvan. And Barry, too.

I’m glad, Aarvan said. They both like you. It’s good to have friends.

Zaayd shifted from foot to foot. I guess I did this . . . this transference thing, too. He arched a brow. Did you really beat up your dad when you were seven?

Yes, I’m afraid I did.

How? He must have been much bigger.

Aarvan grinned. I cheated a bit. Sneaked up on him, used an iron pipe across his shin bones. Brought him down to my level in a hurry.

Zaayd’s mouth formed into an O. How’d you know to do that?

The grin expanded. Everyone around the area says the Starke blood is tainted—meanness built in. Saw my uncle get hit across the shins by accident once. I guess that gave me the idea.

I couldn’t do such a thing to my pakka, Zaayd said.

Likely you’d never have reason. My father was cruel, beat my mama. Something dark, intensely ugly flickered in Aarvan’s blue eyes. Nobody mistreats my mama—not if I’m around.

The boy stared at him for a moment, then his lips widened into a questioning hint of approachability. Would you like to be friends? Zaayd extended his hand.

I’d be proud to be your friend, Zaayd. Aarvan shook firmly.

Haandron linked an arm around the boy’s shoulders, flashed a smile to Rejeena and Aarvan. Let’s go, Zaayd. They departed.

When the door closed behind them, Rejeena turned to Aarvan. Well, indeed, you seem to have fared better than your queen. Zaayd wishes to be friends.

Aarvan granted her his impudent grin. I didn’t dump the kid on a creek bank for owl fodder.

She plumped hands to hips, glared, waved him toward the door. Go find something to do. I have function.

He scooted out the door.

Her words, in a less than angry tone, followed him. Arrogant mouth!

* * *

Da, Agaalea shrilled, ride ocean. Ride ocean.

The naapae had brought the twins onto the deck of the ship. Seeing their father, they immediately toddled to him, one clutching each leg.

He smiled. You’re already riding the ocean.

She shook her head, pointed to his shoulders. Up ’ere. Up ’ere.

I can’t put you both up there.

Me! Me!

No, me, Da, Aheeka vetoed. Me!

Aarvan hunkered down, wrapped each in an arm. I can carry you. I can’t put you both on my shoulders at the same time.

Aaaaw, Da. Agaalea’s small face scrunched into disapproving lines.

Sorry, Baby, I only have one pair of shoulders. He glanced up, noted Jannsen with Koortor leaning against the rail, watching them.

Let’s see how you’re going to solve this one . . . Starke, the Caana leader said.

Aarvan cocked his head. Well, you have a set of shoulders.

Jannsen frowned. I’ve never dealt with munchkins.

No experience required, Aarvan said. You set her around your neck, hold her legs so she doesn’t fall. A grin flickered. Then you play seahorse, gallop around the deck, prancing and whinnying.

Are you daft? I’d appear a complete idiot.

You’d appear as a man having fun with a child. Besides, make some use of you, instead of standing around giving me a hard time.

Starke, you’re berserk. I’m not doing that. A sly smile stretched Jannsen’s mouth. "Unless, of course, you agree to me calling you porch dog again."

No! Aarvan snapped. That’s a privilege you lost being an as . . .—his gaze flicked to the babies—unkind person.

The Caana crossed his arms. Well, then I’m not helping. You had all the fun making them; you can suffer all the humiliation fussing with them.

Fine, Aarvan growled, rising with a child in each arm. I’ll do it myself, best I can.

Koortor stepped forward, turning his face from Jannsen to hide a grin. Let me, Starke. I’ve experience even, dealt with a few wee ones in my time.

Jannsen grabbed his arm. No, I’ll do it. One day I might get married and need the skill. He smirked at Aarvan. "I’ll continue calling you Starke, though I’ll be thinking dote."

Think what you want. Just give Agaalea a ride, without dropping her or dumping her in the drink.

I’ll try not to. Jannsen advanced. Why Agaalea?

She’s the boldest, Aarvan said. Aheeka is shyer with strangers, would likely cry the whole time.

Jannsen dropped to his knees before Agaalea, as Aarvan set her back on the deck. Can I give you an ocean ride?

The green gaze pierced him, brows drawn, small mouth twisting. You not my da.

True, but Da has to ride your sister.

A red brow drew down, so like her mother, Aarvan almost laughed. You do ri’?

Confused, Jannsen glanced at her father.

She’s asking if you’ll do it right.

Well, I’ll try, Jannsen said to the child. If I mess up, you’ll tell me, won’t you?

Heeky and I will be right with you, Aggie, Aarvan said. I’ll help make sure he does it right.

K. The girl held out her little arms.

Jannsen, with a discomfited expression, lifted her, placed her around his neck and grasped her legs. Aarvan picked up Aheeka.

Jannsen motioned. You go first. I don’t want to lead, looking like a complete fool.

Aarvan returned his smirk, then surged ahead, skipping, prancing, tossing his head like an agitated horse, neighing. Aheeka clung, shrieking with delight.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Jannsen followed Aarvan’s lead with much less enthusiasm.

Agaalea squealed happily, then, apparently feeling her sister was having more fun, kicked with her little heels. Gid-up, horsey. Prancy! Fast! Fast!

Jannsen doubled his efforts.

Koortor folded over the rail, laughing so hard he nearly fell head first into the ocean.

The ruckus, of course, drew everyone’s attention. Seafarers turned, staring. Two glaalets, Skoorn and Gloorp, almost went to their knees, thick black fingers pointing, roars filling the air. Dick, Farron and Dahl, emerging from a companionway, guffawed, slapping their legs. Guards, both women and Caana, hid their grins behind hands or shields. Three off-duty queen’s guards, snoozing in deck chairs, snapped awake. Startled, one reached where her sword would have been had she been wearing it.

Aarvan galloped on, zigzagging through spectators, among women working, dodging obstacles. Jannsen followed, face distorted, an embarrassed bright cherry color. The twins released their delighted caterwauling the entire circuit of the deck.

Aarvan halted where they had begun, snorting, pawing.

More, Da! squealed Agaalea.

I think that will do for now, girls. He gestured at Jannsen. Your horsey looks a bit tuckered out.

Jannsen, face still red, growled, Tuckered? I can’t hear. She screeched in my ear the whole way. He glared at Aarvan. Did you see all those people—and unpeople—laughing? I’ll have to slink below decks, hide the rest of the sail.

Good exercise, Aarvan said. And good practice. Maybe, if you’re real nice, Dannsea will let you give a ride to her daughter one of these days.

Jannsen grunted, but for one tiny speck of time, a gleam of hope showed in his eyes. You know, Starke, this evens up for my small part in the sawed-off chair leg, bird crap, stuck pants and the graveyard incident—all of them.

Aarvan stared for a moment. Alright, evened. But not for the Pyyke incident.

Both men placed the girls on the deck. Agaalea dashed away, waving her arms up and down, weaving. Fly fish, Da.

Without a smile, Aarvan said to Jannsen, Thank you. Then he and Aheeka raced after Agaalea, imitating her actions. Alright, we do flying fish.

Jannsen, giving the chuckling Koortor a dark look, leaned against the rail beside him. Is that the sort of big fool you have to act when you’ve got little ones?

Sometimes. Koortor gazed after the three flying fish as they scattered seafarers and passengers alike. I think it’s called being a father. Starke’s more enthusiastic than a lot of guys would be.

Jannsen watched as they careened over the deck boards, intent upon their shared game. Maybe he’s trying for a second childhood, because he never had a first.

Could be, Koortor said, but it sure is working well for those little girls.

Yeah, Jannsen murmured.

* * *

Night fallen, a half-moon cast a glow over the sea, the wave crests glittering in a switching cadence as they rose and fell. Another storm, following a warm day, left the ocean choppy but calming, the vessel rocking, creaking.

Aarvan leaned on the rail, gazing out over the vast, dark panorama of endless water. The salt smell of the ocean still clung, but the longer the voyage, the less he noticed it. Sporadic flicks of wind plucked at the hair on his head, tugged at his open jacket.

He could see the lanterns on the following ships; seven made up the whole fleet, five for the persons, two carrying the war-horses they brought with them. The leaders, important personages, along with necessary seafarers and guards, peopled their ship, the Annannear. She had been named after a former great queen. His lip curled at the thought of one being named after Tabarana. He’d refuse to sail upon it.

Rejeena, Rhotha, Prevar Skoorn, and several of their advisors still gathered about the dinner table. When he left they had been discussing the Mainland, deliberating the reception the glaalets might expect. Aarvan felt the topic had been debated more than enough, so he retreated for some fresh air and solitude.

He grinned, as he remembered the mad scramble before their departure among seafarers working with carpenters to open up galley and sleeping space to accommodate the glaalets’ massive bodies, adapt to their special needs. Two ships, the Annannear and the Paastera had been re-outfitted. All five glaalets sailed upon these two.

He sensed Jannsen’s presence as the Caana exited the companionway and strolled toward him. Naturally! I came out here to be alone for a bit.

Jannsen halted beside him, gazed at Aarvan’s profile for a moment, then leaned backwards against the rail. You know that was embarrassing today, cavorting around the deck with your daughters, romping, snorting like a blithering twit.

When you have your own, you won’t think so. Aarvan turned his head to look at the Caana. It’s silly, but it’s fun. One . . . one makes memories. You missed some of the good parts. I made a swimming hole out of poles and canvas. Grace and Je . . . Great Queen Rejeena joined us. We laughed, splashed, soaked each other thoroughly. After we dried off, we had a tea party. Aarvan made a face. Tea wasn’t much, but the cakes were good. The twins had a great day.

Aarvan puffed out a soft breath. If I should be gone tomorrow, those babies will likely remember today for the rest of their lives. A forlorn note tugged at his voice.

Jannsen frowned. What makes you fear you’ll be gone tomorrow?

I tend to lead a rather hectic . . . risky life. Who knows what tomorrow holds?

Jannsen thought about the forlorn note. Don’t have too many good memories of your own childhood, do you?

The soft voice roughened, picked up a biting edge. No, but that’s none of your blasted concern.

Jannsen turned, leaned against the rail on his forearms, too. He took a stance close, but not too close. Near enough to talk in a low tone but far enough to not violate Aarvan’s personal space. You know we never finished our discussion about your calling me evil, my supposed not holding any respect for you.

I see no purpose for a discussion. I despise you; you despise me. Simple equation.

Yet you allowed me to tote your baby around the ship today. That’s how you utilize evil guys?

Aarvan shrugged. I needed an extra pair of shoulders. Figured you wouldn’t hurl her into the drink with me watching.

"You trusted me to carry your child."

So? I didn’t figure you’d harm a child. That make you a good guy?

Actually, yes. Jannsen flashed his favorite smirk. "Admit it, Starke, you want to let me wiggle off that we despise each other hook, but you can’t because of the Pyyke thing."

Aarvan faced him, eyes narrowed. "Well, suppose I’d done the Pyyke thing to you?"

The smirk widened. I’d have gutted you like a fish first chance I got. Nothing would have stopped me. The smirk faded, as their gazes clinched, Jannsen’s face falling into serious lines. Look, Starke, what Pyyke did—what I let him do—wasn’t the right thing. It was . . . well, it wasn’t right. I can’t blame you for hating us . . . me now that he’s dead.

The Caana shook his head. I learned from the incident, too. Up to then, like I told you, when Pyyke yelled, we Caana jumped. That’s the day I quit jumping. I had to put the old reprobate in his place. He reached toward Aarvan’s shoulder. I’m going to touch you. Don’t go spastic on me. He gripped the shoulder and met the shadowed eyes. You are the most controlled, self-contained bastard I’ve ever met. You handled what Pyyke dished out, stuck to your guns. Didn’t let him . . . us, or your damned pride, fury, desperation, despair, whatever you rammed up against that day—probably all of them . . . His voice faded for a bit, then continued. Didn’t let anything get between you and what you needed to do. That’s a rare talent . . . under those circumstances, incredible determination.

He released Aarvan, spun again to face the sea. You told me once you walk your chosen path, kicking obstacles out of the way as you find them. Well, that’s kinda how I see you. You kicked that incident—likely the most horrible incident a man can confront—aside and kept marching down the road of your choice, didn’t let it interfere with your intentions.

Jannsen stopped, silent for a bit.

Aarvan lifted his gaze to the winking stars. I’ll be blasted. Jannsen just apologized. Did he really put Pyyke in his place? For some reason, I believe him. Maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet—at least partway.

Jannsen cleared his throat. I wouldn’t mind if we weren’t such antagonists anymore, but I suppose too much water has poured under that bridge. He eyed Aarvan with a defiant glare. But, no matter what you think, I do respect you . . . maybe more than anyone I’ve ever met before . . . you arrogant piece of smut. He whirled, stalking toward the companionway.

Aarvan’s soft voice accosted him before he reached it. Jannsen?

What? the Caana snapped without turning.

I guess . . . you can call me porch dog.

Jannsen paused for a long beat of time, then returned. Without speaking, without smiling, they faced each other. The Caana offered his hand, and the Great Queen’s Man shook it.

Still silent, Jannsen spun and strode toward the interior of the ship, but, unseen by Aarvan, the width of his smile rivaled the stretch of sky between horizons.

* * *

Near noon the following day, Bryn planted herself beside Aarvan and complained, "Well, Dru, I don’t see why Woorpt couldn’t have sailed on this ship." He lounged in a deck chair, to rest after again racing the twins all over the vessel. The snoozing babies flopped atop him, each held in an arm. Rejeena smiled from the next chair, Grace curled in her lap.

Barrett ranged behind Bryn, Zaayd beside him, clutching the broken pieces of her kite.

If Woorpt were here, he could fix it. Bryn gestured at the sad remnants of shattered spines and ripped fabric.

Aarvan eyed her offering. I’m not sure even LaSheena could mend those remains, moppet. If you hadn’t been flying it on a ship in the wind, it wouldn’t have crashed into the mast. He frowned. Can’t you three rascals find something else to fill your time?

She plopped hands to hips. Well, why isn’t Woorpt on this ship anyway? He’s my buddy. I like to . . . bother him.

Gloorp spoke. Woorpt not leader, not belong on this particular horrible ocean-skimming wooden con . . . contraption. He and Prevar Skoorn sat on their massive bottoms, leaning against the bulkhead, as the chairs were too spindly. Skoorn’s flat, black face seemed flatter, paled to a near-gray shade. He had already made several trips to lean over the rail, retching.

Bryn spun to face Gloorp. Well, he should be here, same ship as me.

The glaalet grunted. Flow of life not all for pleasure of one small People Kind.

Bryn gestured to herself, Zaayd and Barrett. How about all three of us?

If large mouth in small body wish to join Woorpt, could jump over rail and swim, Gloorp rumbled in his gravelly tone.

Dru, he’s picking on me, Bryn carped.

Sounds more like you’re picking on him, Aarvan said, eyes half closed, enjoying the sea breeze and the snoozing babies. If you don’t stop irritating glaalets, one of them is going to eat you.

Gloorp looked her up and down. No, skinny and wiry. Perhaps use for fish bait.

What self-respecting fish would bite? Aarvan muttered.

Bryn snapped, Dru, you’re supposed to be on my side.

Aarvan opened one eye fully to gaze at her. I’m on the side of trying to get a bit of rest, moppet.

Really! Bryn flounced away, waving the two boys to follow her. Let’s see if we can find some fun on this tub of old, lazy folks.

Aarvan and Gloorp exchanged grins.

Aarvan, you should not so irritate your sister, Rejeena chided with amusement. She learns the craft of a warrior.

Huh. We’re headed for the Mainland, and we have to visit Silicara, anyway. Maybe she’ll hold her frustration, take it all out on her brothers, Karl and Lance and her cousin, Steffer. Do them good, teach them some much-needed lessons.

Rejeena sat, swung her legs over the side of the lounge chair, holding Grace in her lap. I cannot wait to meet your lineage, your mother, Sam, your sisters . . . brothers.

He chuckled. On the Mainland it is family, and you might practice saying brothers without hesitating. He fully opened both eyes. I, too, am counting the days, My Great Queen, until we arrive. You meeting face-to-face my mama, Sam, all my family. Mama able to hug her granddaughters for the first time. A warm, dreamy smile stretched his face. It’ll be a grand gathering.

It better be, Starke. Haandron’s voice sounded behind him. You’re making us all stay unneeded weeks on the Mainland. Just to accommodate you two.

The unneeded part depends upon your perspective. Aarvan peered up and back over his shoulder. Besides, you can soak up some Mainland philosophy, learn about different ways of life. Be a good cultural experience. Give you a broader viewpoint about the world.

The Foredoyan grunted, gazing out over the waves shimmering in the sunlight as the sea rolled. Might be interesting at that.

Yes. I can use the time, too. Jannsen stepped around Haandron into Aarvan’s sight.

How’s that?

It’s been a few years since I was on the Mainland. I can go back to Harverland, see if any of my relatives are still alive.

Aarvan grunted. Harverland? Is that where you’re from? Aarvan’s thoughts leaped to the border sign he had read on his trek as a seventeen-year-old, leaving Shaggra Farr’s home after the old man died. Aarvan, then Drury Starke, resumed his journey to find his mother. He found Diana Cobbley first—in Harverland, a small innocuous, farming nation tucked between larger neighbors.

Yep. Jannsen cocked his head. Dannsea told me . . . Isn’t that where you met that woman—he snapped his fingers—that . . .?

Diana Cobbley, Aarvan supplied. Yes. She was a widow. Needed my help to fix up her farm. I worked for her for a while.

Jannsen’s grin turned carnal. Way I heard it, you did more than help farm.

A tinge of pink crept up Aarvan’s face. Too many people telling tales.

You denying you and Diana made the old whoopee?

None of your blasted business, Jannsen.

You kinda answered by not answering, Porch Dog, the Caana said. Great place, Harverland. Nice quiet little country, with nice quiet little people. We don’t bother anyone and nobody bothers us.

Aarvan’s impudent grin flashed. Is that why they threw you out? You’re neither little nor quiet.

Well, I’m bigger than you . . . Porch Dog. But then, so is a mouse. Besides, you wouldn’t recognize quiet if it jumped up and bit you. Jannsen showed a fake glower. I wasn’t thrown out. I left for adventure.

You got plenty of that, Aarvan said. You shouldn’t have any complaints.

Wrong kind of adventure, Jannsen growled.

Even the glaalets chuckled by now, listening to the exchange. They all paid scant attention to the muted sounds of an escalating kerfuffle from the other side of the ship.

The naapae for the children arrived from the passageway. We will relieve you of the daughters, Great Queen’s Man. It is time for them to take sustenance.

Aarvan relinquished the sleepy little girls. Rejeena rose, handing Grace to a naapa. The naapae departed back into the interior of the vessel with the children.

The unseen quarrel had risen in volume, the words loud but undistinguishable, competing with the surge of the wind, the creak of the ship.

Aarvan walked toward the foredeck to cross over. I best go find out what’s happening. That sounded like my wayward little sister.

Me, too. Haandron followed him. I thought I heard Zaayd’s voice. If she is into something, he will be right beside her.

Jannsen, shadowed by Koortor, hurried behind them.

Before they reached the front of the ship, they heard a loud yell from Bryn, Barry, no! At the same moment, a shrill screech pierced the air.

The four men broke into a run. Rounding the foredeck, they saw Barrett, Bryn and Zaayd, all lined at the rail, hands clasped upon it, staring toward the ocean.

Aarvan rushed to the railing and peered over. He saw the crater created by a large body hitting water, the beginnings of ripples flowing outward.

Haydn Starr broke the surface. Terror permeated his shout, as he ineffectively banged at the sea with his arms.

My god! Jannsen yelled. It’s Haydn. He can’t swim.

Aarvan bellowed, Voyager asea! Voyager asea!

Seafarers, several of them, gazed over the rail. Three sauntered toward the lifeboats, strapped to the sides of the ship.

The man can’t swim! Aarvan shouted. Quickly!

One of the women gave him an over-the-shoulder leer. He’s just a Caana, and a nasty one at that. No hurry.

Come on, dammit! Jannsen roared. He ran toward the lifeboats, as though to lower one himself.

Haydn Starr, sputtering and squalling, submerged, then bobbed back to the surface. He coughed and slapped at the water.

The women slowly untied a lifeboat and leisurely began to lower it. A damned useless Caana, one spouted.

Maybe rescuing the Great Queen’s Man will speed you up. In a short, arching leap, Aarvan dived over the railing, plummeting toward the ocean.

Dru! Bryn squealed, half excitement, half fear.

Yeehaw! Zaayd squalled.

Barrett clapped his hands, jumping up and down, pointing, grinning.

Jannsen stopped running. Damn fool!

Seafarers found sudden incentive, swiftly cranking the loosened lifeboat, three women aboard, toward the water. Several more followed. More women furled sails, as the helmswoman spun her wheel, slewing the ship sideways. But the lifeboats were lowered on the windward side. No help for it. The Great Queen’s Man of Kriiscon cleaved the sea near Haydn Starr, as, a distressing number of cetans away, five black fins sliced the waves straight for the ship.

Aarvan plunged into the cold water, curving his body to surface quickly. He broke into the sunlight behind Haydn, who, sputtering and whimpering, started to sink again. Aarvan grabbed his collar, buoying him. Kick gently with your feet, Starr. Those black fins belong to sharks; sound attracts them.

Starr emitted a bubbly shriek. I’m sinking! I’m sinking! Help! He tried to turn toward Aarvan.

Holding Starr at arm’s length, still keeping his head above water, Aarvan said again, Light kicks. They will hold you up. Push with your arms. He demonstrated with his free arm.

In full panic mode, Starr burbled, Save me! Can’t swim! He grabbed at Aarvan’s arm.

Don’t make me knock you out, Starr, Aarvan grated. If the man dragged him under, they could both drown. And those black fins closed swiftly.

Screeches, screams and curses hurtled at them from the ship.

The first lifeboat hit the water, cetans away, as the huge ship’s momentum pushed it.

Starr still fought both Aarvan and the water.

Aarvan backhanded him across the face. Listen to me, Starr! Go still. I’ll keep you afloat. Those sharks might not be picky about their dinners.

The slap seemed to finally claim Starr’s attention. He stared bug-eyed at the black fins. Help me!

I’m trying. Hold still.

Starr stilled, though his body trembled. Aarvan moved his legs and arm as slowly as possible to kept them afloat. The fins sank, vanished, and he felt a bump on his legs. The miscreants investigating this strange offering?

The prow of a boat appeared near Aarvan. He grabbed hold with his free hand, hoisted Starr upward against the side.

Great Queen’s Man, a seafarer cried, forget him. Get in the boat.

Take him! Aarvan heaved. Now!

The women snatched the Caana beneath the arms, jerking him to safety.

Aarvan seized the boat with both hands, levered upward. The women gripped his arms, lifted him. His feet cleared the water as the first miscreant made an intentional run, its sharp, soul-chilling mouthful of teeth snapping on air.

Starr lay whimpering in the bottom of the boat. I can’t swim. He threw me off, and I can’t swim.

Shut up, Starr, Aarvan snarled. In the frosty spring air, he wrapped his arms around himself and shivered—not merely from the cold water—an image of those snapping teeth floated behind his eyes.

Great Queen’s Man, a seawoman growled, what did you think you were doing? We told you to get into the boat first.

Aarvan glared. I wouldn’t have been in the water, if you had gotten your arses in motion to save Starr.

She gave him a disgusted grimace, then turned away to help with the rowing.

Haydn Starr, shaking, complaining, required help up the rope ladders ranging the side of the ship. The women aided him after Aarvan threatened to throw them to the miscreants if they didn’t. Besides, the Great Queen now peered over the railing, watching the action unfold.

Safely aboard ship, wrapped in blankets, servants hurrying forward with hot coffee, the two men sank into deck chairs.

Jannsen planted himself in front of Aarvan. That was the dumbest thing I have ever seen a man do! Dumb! Stupid! Idiotic! He paused, and a quirk of smile flashed. Thanks, Porch Dog.

Go to Hell, Jannsen, Aarvan said, but no bite filled his tone.

Rejeena took Jannsen’s place. Aarvan, I should have you horsewhipped for such an act. Those are miscreants in that water. They eat persons.

The blue eyes met hers with the barest hint of amusement. Do you think whipping would help, My Great Queen?

She crossed her arms and glared. No, LaSheena help me, I know it would not. But at times, the idea stands most enticing.

Bryn jumped past Rejeena and flung her arms around Aarvan’s neck. Dru, you could have been killed. Those are sharks.

Yes, moppet, sharks. He sat up straight. Now, would someone explain to me how Haydn Starr managed to end up in the drink. I heard someone yell, ‘Barry, no!’ before the splash. He turned an accusatory gaze to the boy/man. Barrett?

LaHeeka stood beside Barrett.

Aarvan scowled. How did she get on deck so fast? She wasn’t here a moment ago. She must indeed fly through the air.

Barrett shrugged, scrunched his face in Starr’s direction. I don’t like him.

He did it! Haydn Starr shrilled, brandishing a finger at Barrett. I know he did.

Someone explain what happened. Aarvan’s scrutiny moved among Bryn, Zaayd and Barrett.

Bryn twisted her mouth. Well, Dru . . . we were running, me and Zee and Barry. My leg got tangled with his. She pointed at Starr. He was plopped in a deck chair, out in the middle instead of against the wall as he should have been. I . . . well, I kinda flipped him.

She glared at Starr. He jumped up. He cussed me, really nasty names. Said I was a shameless little hussy to leave the Mainland for Kriiscon. Bryn bumped Barrett’s arm. Barry didn’t like that. Told him to stop. Stop calling me names.

She paused in her diatribe, heaving her shoulders. That rotten Caana called Barry a scum-sucking halfwit. And . . . well . . . Barry never touched him. He didn’t! That stupid Caana person just went flying over the rail.

He just flew over the rail?

Yes. Bryn frowned. "You flew over the rail."

Yes, little girl, but I meant to fly over the rail. I doubt Haydn Starr did.

Starr pointed at Barrett, insisting, He did something. I know he did. His finger turned to LaHeeka. He hangs around with that old bat. He . . . His voice ceased, mouth continuing to move, no sound emerging.

Aarvan looked at Barrett, who fixed Starr with a concentrated stare.

Barrett, stop it! Aarvan snapped, at the same time LaHeeka touched the boy/man’s arm.

Starr appeared to gasp for a moment. Then he leaped up, jumped behind Jannsen. He did it! He threatened me. He pointed at me, and I went over the rail. Get him away from me. He’s some sort of devil.

He’s no devil! Zaayd yelled. You’re a foul-mouthed bonehead.

Alright, enough, Aarvan said. He looked at Starr. Did he touch you?

No, but—

No buts. We all survived. From now on, an accident is an accident—even if the kids are running like maniacs. Nobody calls anyone names. He rounded on the three friends. And you’ll all show respect for adults. Am I clear?

Zaayd and Bryn nodded with grumpy expressions. Barrett hung his head. Alright. I’m sorry. He lifted his eyes and stared at Starr, where he still cowered behind Jannsen. He made me mad. He called names. I don’t like it when people call Bryn names.

See! See, I told you! Starr squeaked. He admitted he did it.

Starr, shut up, Aarvan said for the second time.

Dru, Barry never touched him. He wasn’t even near him, Bryn said.

Great Queen Rejeena, who until now remained silent, strode forward. I think perhaps all should retire to their quarters, savor a noon meal and allow tempers to cool.

I quite agree, My Great Queen. Aarvan frowned at LaHeeka and Barrett. I’d like you two to join us for lunch.

LaHeeka’s shriveled face split into that wrinkles upon wrinkles which passed for a grin. We should be delighted.

Barely had they entered Rejeena’s dining area when Aarvan whirled on Barrett. What did you do, Barrett?

The boy/man dropped his chin, shuffled his feet, pale green gaze swiveling to LaHeeka.

What brings you to believe Barry did anything? the Conjurah asked.

I know he did something. I don’t know what. I don’t know how. But that Caana didn’t leap over the railing on his own. Aarvan paused with narrowed eyes. Strange things happen around Barry . . . kind of unexplainable things.

LaHeeka said, All right. So, you think you want the truth?

Yes, I want the truth.

Barry, dear, demonstrate for the nice people what you did.

Barrett’s fists clenched as he chewed his lip. But then they’ll all know, Mistress. They’ll call me a freak. I don’t like that.

Nobody will call you a freak, Barry, Aarvan said. We’re your friends.

The boy/man’s brows lowered. That person . . . he called Bryn names. I didn’t like that. I told him to quit, but he wouldn’t. Then he called me names. A sly-child smirk etched his lips. So, I did this. He held out one balled hand, straightened his fingers with a flick. A chair sitting at the table flew into the air, flipped over the seat and back of the one behind it, landed neatly on the floor, all four legs beneath it.

Aarvan shook his head. Please, My Great Queen, tell me I didn’t see what I saw.

Rejeena chuckled. I believe you saw what I saw, Aarvan. Barrett tossed one chair over another without being near either. We have tried to tell you magic does exist.

This act involved no magic, LaHeeka said.

Then please explain, Ancient Conjurah, Aarvan said. Either I’m crazy, I just witnessed magic, or you performed some trick of sight and motion.

The old woman sat, crossed her hands in her lap. As you all know, lightning struck Barry while he wandered the beach, having survived a shipwreck. What happened to his mind remains a mystery, which only LaSheena could explain. Some inexplicable force reduced his thinking and actions to that of a child. But, on the other hand, Karma granted him a powerful weapon. He can force occurrences by simply willing them to happen—not all things, but many things. She cackled softly. He nearly frightened to death the wander women who found him; they thought him a demon up from Nether. Fortunately, they brought him to me. With the help of my learners and accomplished conjurahs, we have aided, trained him, so that—for the most part—he is able to control his instincts, hold his ability for important times. Today, of course, he failed to restrain himself. LaHeeka held up a finger for emphasis. But that Caana deliberately irritated him. It is misfortunate Barry succumbed.

She waved Barrett to her, and looped a wrinkled arm around his waist. I would require knowledge of Barrett’s skill be close held by the persons within this room. Her bright blue eyes roamed the gathered group—Rejeena, Aarvan, Captain Locin, Bryn, Zaayd, as well as Jannsen who had joined them. "No explanation need be granted others. The incident can be considered one of the great mysteries of life. All of you, this is, by the way—not a request!" She clinched each one in a cold, demanding stare.

But, Zaayd said, Ancient Conjurah, I can’t keep secrets from my pakka.

This one you will keep, young man.

It will be for the best, Zaayd, Aarvan said. Then he looked at LaHeeka. "Are you on the level with this, or is it a concocted tale to cover—something or other? How can this