Tranquility's Child

By Danyne Quinn

Begin an enthralling journey where the paths of a celestial moon child and a shape-shifting pirate converge amidst a bustling marketplace, initiating a tale that blends fantasy and steampunk into a captivating fusion. Within this gripping narrative, destiny weaves a tapestry of timeless love against the backdrop of an otherworldly adventure. Mee

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danyne Quinn
• Release date: Apr 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869333674

Book preview

Tranquility’s Child

By Danyne Quinn

For Chris. My Tristan

Acknowledgements

There are a few people who helped make this story a reality.

Clair McFarland- Thank you for working on my manuscript and for encouraging me to continue working to get it published.

Kelly Hostetter- Thank you, Sissy, for painting the image for this book. Anything with your art attached can only be better.

Mom and Jayms- For being my cheerleaders and listening to me read aloud for hours, trying to stay away while my monotone put you to sleep!

To my husband, Chris- Who believed this could happen more than I did. Thank you for your unwavering support and love.

Table Of Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Part Two

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Part Three

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Prologue

The woman stood on the pier as the sea rolled and raged on all sides. It was darkest night, as clouds snuffed out the moon and the stars allowed only an occasional glimpse of the moon. Below the congested sky, the small figure appeared a statue facing an angry and roiling sea, unaware of the raging waves reaching for her, threatening to pull her into their depths. Her cloak billowed around her with long wisps of silver hair whipping about the hood like snakes reaching for freedom.

The old man was loath to admit it, but he had no idea how the woman came to be on the pier. It was his job to know, and he would swear he had not been lax in his duty. One minute the pier was empty and the next she was there. The storm brought the oppressive black night along with torrents of rain that fell from the sky in heavy sheets, so it might have brought her as well; a wraith conjured from mist and fog.

Just as he began to question whether she was real or if it was his overactive imagination at play, the figure turned and began walking down the pier toward him. As she drew closer, two things occurred to him. First, it was the blackest night. yet she appeared to be illuminated by something, for he was able to see a pale face peeking slightly from the hooded cloak. Second, she didn’t appear to be walking. It was as though she was gliding. There was no gait or stride in her movement. She simply floated toward him.

Another man might have been frightened, but William Reed had seen many things in his lifetime, and in this place, anything was possible. He drew a breath and held up his hand, palm down, pursing his lips slightly to blow on the orb that rested on the top of his hand. It expanded slightly with his breath, becoming brighter.

The woman moved off the pier and down the path toward the open shed where Reed sheltered. He rose from his seated position in the recesses of the shed where he kept diligent watch during the designated hours at his post and stepped out of the shelter onto the path to meet the mysterious figure.

She stopped in front of him, waiting.

My lady, you may not come further. ‘Tis a black night to be out and about, to be sure. I know not from where you have come, but I must tell you this is not the way to shelter. There is nothing out here but black storm and the violent sea. He paused to wait for her answer, but she said nothing. She reached inside her cloak, pulled out an object, and handed it to him. Her skin shone white as bone, as though illuminated from within.

Reed took the object. It was a wooden coin with markings few would recognize. He drew in a breath, saying, I won’t ask you how you came to have this. I know the owner, and it would be near impossible to get it from him without his leave to do so. He glanced up at her, his eyes a question as he gave the coin back and waited, once again, for an answer that did not come.

The woman turned the hand of the arm holding the coin to reveal a mark on the wrist. It was a raised scar of a sea creature and an anchor intertwined. The voice that came from beneath the hooded cloak was soft and melodious. He said you would know what to do.

Reed stared a moment, taking in what he was seeing, then nodded. Aye lass. I do. He paused for a moment, still collecting himself then continued, My name is Reed, and I would ask you to follow me. No matter what happens, follow this orb. He held up his arm with the lighted orb perched on his hand like a bird, then furthered the imagery by putting the orb on his shoulder. He turned away from her and stepped forward, taking them down the beach away from the shed. With each step the air became stiller, and the blackness of the night closed in around them in a fog so thick one could cut it with a knife.

Reed took steady steps forward, slow and even. The journey was familiar to him, but he knew, for a person having never gone through the fog, it would be easy to become lost in it. Indeed, that was the point. Many a soul had tried to penetrate the heart of Marauder’s Isle and had become hopelessly lost in its magikal defenses, never finding the way out of it. It was a maze, and not knowing the way was certain death sentence. One could hear the wails of those lost, no longer living but not gone, trapped in the dark fog. Their crying made walking through it all the more terrifying.

Be sure to stay close to me, lass. There is no need to be afraid while with me, but the voices you hear are the souls lost in this black death, and they would reach out and pull you in if given a chance.

The woman did not respond. She seemed unaffected by the magik of the fog or the horrible wailing of its victims.

Reed had never gauged how long it took to get through the fog maze. Sometimes when he went through it alone it seemed only seconds before he cleared it, but when he was taking someone through it, the journey felt an eternity. He wondered if maybe the magik itself stretched time when someone it did not recognize attempted to gain access to the other side.

Reed spent his life on the island. There was a small village set away from the coastline where he was raised. He came from a long line of keepers, men who were raised to know the island and who were to keep its secrets, guarding it from those who were uninvited. Before Reed’s eyes, many a trespasser lost his life to the protections in place on the island. He viewed such experiences as no fault of his own, but the consequential result of poor choices made by the individual.

The village knew the island was enchanted, holding refuge for those fleeing the outside world. Not just anyone could escape to its shores, and those who had a place on the shoreline had special coins purchasing safe passage through the fail safes, with him as their guide. The woman behind him provided not only a coin but proof she was bonded with the man who owned the coin, making the coin her property as well. Coins were passed down through families over generations. One side of the coin had the family or clan emblem stamped on it, and the other side had an image of a large crown with imposing prongs shaped like spikes.

Reed wondered about the figure following quietly behind him. He knew the holder of the coin, and he was curious about the chain of events that brought the two of them together and ended with her on the island alone.

So lost in his reverie was he, he didn’t realize the fog was thinning until he stepped into the curtain of rain the magik of the fog maze eliminated. He jerked to attention and mumbled to himself, admonishing his old age and wandering thoughts. They moved along the shoreline towards the rolling sea where massive boulders shot out of the ground.

To view them was to see the outline of prongs upon a great and vast crown, with the circlet submerged and the prongs sticking out of the angry dark sea. This was the image encapsulated on the coin. They proceeded down the shore, drawing closer to the crown of boulders until they were standing near one of them. It was just a gigantic shape in the night, but Reed knew the daylight would show a massive rock covered in moss and algae, forever wet with the crashing of waves around it.

Reed took them knee deep into the ocean then turned to the woman. Now you must stay exactly behind me. Do not veer to the right or left. There will be a path, but if you step on one side or the other you will fall to fathomless depths and be swept by undercurrents. Understand?

I do, came the soft, even voice from within the cloak.

Reed turned and took another step in the water. No path appeared until he lowered his foot, and with each step, a stone appeared suspended above the churning sea. They moved steadily if not quickly. The stone steps were wide enough for a man to stand, both feet planted, but they were wet and slippery with water. He wanted to make certain the woman did not slip. This was an often-tragic test, and if one looked down into the dark depths of the ocean, shapes not natural to the waters moved about. Reed knew they were the spirits of those who failed to cross the magik rock bridge – and they were waiting to receive the next victim.

They moved across the sea some distance from the shoreline, with Reed pausing often to make sure the woman was still behind him. They reached a flat rock section in front of the massive boulder and when he had cleared it, he turned to wait for her. When she reached him, he ascended one step to put his hand on the huge rock.

Ye must find the crevice in the rock. Then put the coin in it like so. He demonstrated as he found the crevice. The coin slid in, and as it did, he said, Put your hand flat just here. He pointed to a smooth spot just above the crevice and to the left of it.

The woman did as instructed.

It will know you now, Reed said. You will not have to use the coin, as you come and go. However, for a while, wear the coin in your shoe as you go down the path to the shoreline. The path will come to know you as well, and after a few times going back and forth, it will recognize your trod, and you will not have to wear it. I will return on the morrow with food and some essentials ‘til you get situated. Is there anything you be needing to get through the night?

Reed’s voice trailed off as an arched doorway opened in the rock; a gaping jaw with chilled breath. The woman stepped into the doorway, pushing her hood back as she turned to look at him.

Dear God, what happened to ye, lass? he exclaimed, his eyes wide in horror, as he beheld a beautiful face, much obscured in the darkness except what the orb illuminated.

What he saw left him slack-jawed.

It was her hair, or lack thereof. It was as though someone had ripped it straight from her head on the left side, leaving bald patches and only slightly healed sores. The rest of her hair had been hacked off except on the right side, where there were still strands that looked as silver as the moonlight. They escaped from their hiding place under the hood and fell down her breasts to wisp lightly at her waist.

What have they done to you, lass? Reed asserted again, staring without embarrassment at her head and the terrible wounds.

It is a good thing all my magik does not reside in my hair, is it not? she responded softly, a small smile gracing her lips. She leaned into the darkness of the room beyond. Thank you, Mister Reed. I am indebted. I apologize for not introducing myself. I am not myself. My name is Ilia.

She paused for a moment to offer him another small smile then said, Good night.

She waited a moment for him to release her hand, then turned and moved into the recesses of the cave, as the door scraped heavily on across stone to close behind her.

Reed stood for a moment, all his speculations about the woman wiped away with the reality of what he had just seen. A few moments passed as he stood staring back at the shoreline trying to make sense of it. Then he gathered his thoughts and carried them with him back across the path to the shore.

One

Fate conspired to bring them together in the marketplace. It truly was fate, as she was more a child of the night, and he avoided social gatherings at all costs. Yet, there they were, and there they ran into each other - literally. She was standing in the city square transfixed by all the people and the noise. It was chaos, color, sound, and cacophony. She found herself lost in it all and not paying attention to the immediate.

The immediate came in the form of a rather large man plowing a straight line through the circular center to get to the butchers on the other side. He was indifferent to those around him, his head down, as he read the list of items he needed to order.

Generally, the crowds parted when Tristan was anywhere near, so he rarely bothered with making sure no one was in front of him. His large presence and the fact that most people understood who he was, though they would never speak of it, caused most to retreat. He was the Lord Pirate, a man dangerous and feared everywhere. His exploits were legendary, and there was a quality of the feral about him that caused the most solid of men unease.

Tristan did not like being in crowds, because he knew people were afraid of him. Though it made him uncomfortable, he also relied on their discomfort to allow him to get what he needed quickly and without interference. This day, however, there was an exception- the young woman with silver hair and pale skin so caught up in her surroundings she was oblivious to them. He plowed right into her.

Fortunately for Ilia, he had quick reflexes and broke her fall. Her crystal blue eyes locked with his mossy green, and they did not waver as he righted her. For a moment the world melted away as they stood transfixed. Ilia felt her magik rise within her like a seated figure standing up. Her fingertips tingled, and she felt hot rush of power move through her unlike anything she had conjured up on purpose. This came of its own accord, responding, she realized, to the man still holding her in his arms. He brought her entire being to attention, and she had an absurd desire to pull him closer to her.

It was Tristan who broke the spell. He felt the power surge through her as he still had his arm about her waist. He broke the contact and said, I’m sorry lass. I was not minding where I was going. Are you all right?

He would forever remember everything about her that first time they met. She wore a light blue smock. It was not the current fashion, for it had no frills. It was the color of the palest sky, made of a soft material that almost seemed liquid as it moved about her. Her hair, the color of moonlight, was a mass of white curls tied back with a ribbon just below the nape. It was slung over her shoulder, the curls cascading down over one breast to reach her waist.

Her skin was pale but not without warmth. He had encountered night walkers, but she was not one of those. Still, he sensed she was a woman from the night world. Her eyes were the same light blue as her dress and had a translucent quality did not waver from his. He had a sense she could see right into the heart of him. No doubt, this was a very powerful woman.

Ilia did a mental collection of herself, bidding the power coursing in her veins to subside, as she took stock of the man in front of her. He was large, formidably framed, and marked by hard labor. He had slim hips and well-muscled legs to match the rest of him. His dark hair was pulled tightly back in a plait, tied with a stock, that hung well past his shoulders. He had a full dark beard that for all its thickness was well groomed and trimmed closely to his jawline.

He wore the clothing of an upper-class merchant. Dark breeches fitted his slim hips and legs and met with high leather boots of good quality. He wore a dark green coat that extended almost to his calves, a black wool vest, and a white linen shirt that was open at the neck, the one component that suggested he was not quite the upper-class gentleman the rest of his attire promised, for true gentlemen wore cravats at the neck. At his waist, he’d tucked a knife into his belt. She could see, through the Y-neck of his tunic, the edge of a tattoo of some sort. He was definitely of the sea-faring folk, for tattoos were a part of their particular distinction. Her magik perked, sensing the ocean about him. His piercing green eyes studied her as she surveyed him for what seemed forever but was in fact only seconds.

My apologies, sir, her smooth voice flowed over him like cool waters. I was wool gathering. I don’t often come to market, and I fear I am slightly overwhelmed in my senses with it all. She smiled, a faint rosy tint shading her cheeks in embarrassment.

Indeed, I think we can both take the blame here, but how else would I have met the most interesting woman in the square without such a collision?

He grinned, eliciting another smile from Ilia. I am Tristan, he said, reaching out a hand for hers.

She gave her hand, and as he kissed the top of it she said, You are more than that, sir. You are, I am quite sure, a pirate. She did not stop at the surprised look that crossed his face before he schooled his expressions.

She shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. I, on the other hand, am just Ilia.

He released her hand, laughing. Aye, but you are more than that, madam. I wager you are a moon child, and an extremely powerful one at that.

It was her turn to struggle to school her features to mask her surprise. She started to step back from him, and he quickly responded to her action, his face suddenly serious, Do not be alarmed. I do not fear power in any creature. Power is a thing to celebrate, not shun out of fear.

He glanced around them before continuing, But I do believe we are drawing a crowd. May I suggest we walk on?

Ilia looked around and noticed they were indeed drawing a crowd. She knew she should take leave of the stranger and go about her business, but she could not seem to leave him. She suddenly felt a connection to the man was important to explore. She knew, as one knows when a decision is the right one, from that day forward she would be tied in some way to him. I only need to find the woolsy. I need a new cloak.

He nodded, reaching for her hand to tuck it in the crook of his arm as he steered them through the crowded street to a table heaped with wool goods.

With some haste, she picked out a wool cloak that had been dyed to a deep, dark Indigo blue. It was of excellent quality, and heavy. She seemed to know exactly the one she wanted, and as she paid the woolsy Tristan said, Shopping with you must be a quick venture. It took you but two minutes to make your purchase.

Ilia glanced up at him, grinning. I’m not really much of a shopper. I tend to buy what I want and have it in mind before I ever set out. She shrugged, saying, And I have never had much opportunity to take my leisure either. I draw attention, and that does not lend a comfortable atmosphere for wandering and looking. She fell silent, wondering if she was sharing too much.

But he nodded. I can identify. I tend to draw attention as well, though in a different way, I’d wager. He sent her a wry smile.

They fell silent for a time until Tristan broke the hush. So where are we walking to? I don’t mind strolling around the town with you at all. ‘Tis a very pleasant way to spend the day, but I am guessing at some point you would like to get back to your place of residence.

She smiled and gave a small chuckle. Yes. That might be good information to have. We are staying at the King’s Inn. It’s just down this same street.

I know it well, he said, shifting his stance. You said, ‘we.’ Are you here with family? A husband perhaps?

No husband. I am here with my sisters. She paused. Well, they aren’t really my sisters. We grew up in the same place and, well… She trailed off, not sure how to explain. She drew a breath and tried again. Since he did not press her for a more precise answer, she was willing to give him one. I grew up in a special place, you see. I never knew my parents. So, I was raised in a home with other children like me.

Tristan nodded. I have heard the stories. He paused, glancing at her. Shall I tell you what I have heard, and you can tell me what is truth and what is fable?

Ilia sighed in relief, happy to let him do the talking, as she bobbed her head in agreement.

Moon children, you are called. Changelings at birth. You were born to mortal parents who saw you were different, and because of the brainwashing and fearmongering of the current society

– he scoffed - you were left to die in the woods somewhere.

He waited for her correction, and when she said nothing, he continued. I’m guessing someone found you or was even looking for you, picked you up, and took you to a place where you could live in safety.

Yes. You have it correct, said she. There are people who look for changelings for good and for ill. Most changelings are moon children, but there are other kinds. I was fortunate to be found by someone who cared and who was able to give me a good home. Moon children are generally female. We are pale, as you see I am, pale blue eyes, and silver hair. We look as though we have been touched by the moon, and so we have. Some of us are quite powerful. Magik flows from us like breath. Others have only the looks and very little magik. She grew silent.

Which have you? he asked.

She gave him a pointed look. Well sir, you might say I have it all.

Tristan smiled, I’m sure you do. I knew it when I touched you, but I wondered if you knew.

Ilia chuckled lightly, then sobered, "It is dangerous, and that was a fool thing I did today.

Impetuous. I may as well have announced my presence over a horn at the tallest building. She gave an exasperated sigh, But I get so tired of living life in the shadows. I sometimes want to live in the sun. She gave a slight bow of her head. I fear my lack of judgment may cause repercussions. I hope I am wrong."

They walked in silence for a time then Tristan said, How many of you are there here in town?

My two chaperons who are really more like mothers to us, and three of my adopted siblings. There are more of us than that, but as we grow up, we are often placed in different areas throughout the world, especially those of us who have special abilities. We have a benefactor; someone I do not know, who keeps us well funded and has since long before I was born, she paused, not knowing how much further to go with her story.

So, your sisters do not have special skills, and that is why they are still with your mothers? It was a question, but he uttered it like a statement.

Ilia nodded, They are not moon children gifted in the magikal realm. At least two of them are not. One is still too young to tell.

Then what of you? he asked. Where do you fit in?

Ilia shrugged, I am something altogether different, and they keep me close not only for my safety; but because my training has been much more extensive than others like me. She brushed a few stray silver strands from her cheek. And there are people who would like to get ahold of someone with my abilities who has not quite learned the extent of them or how to use them. She trailed off, realizing she had exposed herself to a man she did not know.

Tristan sensed her alarm. Do not fear. I assure you; I am not one of those people. His smile did assure her, and she returned it.

They were at the King’s Inn front door. Ilia was turning to thank Tristan for the walk when the door flew open,