Whill of Agora: Book 1 - Michael Ploof (e book reader for pc .TXT) 📗

went into a slash-and-stab dance that kept Abram on his toes in the close quarters. Cirrosa worked the two blades like a master, but Abram was prepared. He knew the pirate’s fighting style well, for they had been friends for a time in their academy days. He was keeping pace but needed to get one of the blades out of the fight. He deflected the short sword high to the left and came in close, knowing Cirrosa would go for the gut. A split second before Cirrosa thrust with the dagger, Abram was already pulling back from the strike. Down his blade came from the short sword parry; straight came the thrust of Cirrosa’s blade. In an instant Abram sliced deep into Cirrosa’s forearm, nearly severing it. It swung sickeningly from the pirate’s arm. Cirrosa let out a howl of pain and spun away from Abram. The Dragon was rocked again and lurched to the side. Abram and Cirrosa were thrown to the wall. Abram got his footing as quickly as possible and came at the injured captain. Cirrosa’s eyes went wild with pain and rage. He lunged with his blade, but Abram easily blocked it. The pirate was too weak from his injury to win, but Abram knew he wouldn’t stop until the bitter end. Cirrosa would never allow himself to become a prisoner, nor to see the inside of a courtroom. For Cirrosa, being caught meant a fate worse than death.

There was no time for speeches; the ship was falling apart around them. Abram deflected another feeble slash and stabbed Cirrosa through the heart.

Cirrosa jolted and his body froze. Then he found Abram’s gaze and grabbed his shoulders. Blood poured from his mouth as he spoke. “I’m glad it was you,” he said, and then his eyes went blank.

“So am I.”

Abram watched Cirrosa fall before he fled to the empty and burning deck above, climbed the rail, and dove into the ocean.

Chapter 9 An Ocean of Mystery

Whill awoke to more pain than he had ever known. He was sure that he was dead or dying. Every fiber of his being ached to a point that was almost unbearable. He was not sure if he were actually awake or asleep. A fog blurred his vision as strange shapes loomed over him and spoke in a language he could not understand. He tried to move but could not; he tried to speak but found he could not remember how. He lay in fear—fear of the seemingly endless pain, fear of the shadows which spoke to him in such a strange tongue.

Once again he blacked out and slipped into the world of dreams. He could see a man and woman standing upon a small hill. Though he did not remember ever seeing them, he knew they were his parents. Joy flooded through him as he ran toward them, ready to finally embrace the mother and father who had been stolen from him. But as he ran the hill grew bigger, and his parents’ smiles withered. The faster he ran, the higher the hill grew until it was a mountain before him, and his parents’ faces smiled skeletons’ grins—he realized the mountain was time itself

Whill screamed as he awoke and sat up. His vision was still blurry and the strange figures grabbed at him. He tried to fend them off but they soon subdued him. Vaguely he recognized the boy Tarren sitting next to him, smiling. He knew then that he was dreaming again, for Tarren was dead. He struggled to wake. As his vision grew clearer, he could now see that with Tarren sat many women and children he did not know. He tried to move and was almost rendered unconscious as pain jolted through his body. As his vision blurred again, he saw Abram walking towards him. Then blackness found him once more.

He lay in great pain while the voices spoke soothingly. Then the blue light returned, slowly at first, dancing along the edges of his vision. As it became stronger, his pain finally left him and he found he could sit up. Surrounded by the blue light, he now saw a figure, a person, standing before him. The figure drew close enough that he could tell it was a woman. She came and knelt before him. Her hair was so long that when she knelt it touched the ground. It was brown and shone with a great radiance, as did her body. Her face was a picture of pure beauty; her skin smooth as silk. Her eyes were bright blue—the irises ringed in a darker shade—and within them Whill sensed great compassion and kindness, and wisdom beyond mortal understanding. He thought he must be dreaming of his mother again until he noticed her ears. They were pointed and protruded from under her hair. He knew at once that he was in the presence of an elf. As he stared in wonder, she simply smoothed his hair back and spoke, in an almost humming tone, the same words over and over: “Endalla orn, Whill, elan orna menon, lelalda wea shen ora.”

He was lulled into a deep and peaceful sleep, one without pain or fear. As the elf woman’s voice slowly faded, he felt more at peace than ever he had before.

The bed rocked slowly, and Whill could feel a wet cloth being applied to his forehead. His body ached and his throat burned, but he had enough strength to open his eyes. He was in the sleeping quarters of Old Charlotte, where more than a two dozen women and children sat staring at him with strange expressions. Instantly he surveyed the surrounding crowd for the elven beauty, but to no avail. The only women in the room were human, and none of them resembled the elf. Perhaps he had been dreaming after all...except that she had seemed more real than these women did now.

“Please, my good lady,” he said to the woman sponging his forehead. “Where has the elven woman gone?”

She gave him a queer look. “I’m sorry, lad, there is no elf here. You still have a fever. You should rest some more.”

Whill ignored her request and swung his legs over the side of the cot. Dressed only in his pants, he quickly grabbed a shirt and threw it on. Again he surveyed the surrounding people. They wore ragged clothes, and their hair was dirty and matted. They looked as though they had not bathed or eaten in weeks. He assumed that these were the families of the men who had first attacked—but how had they gotten onto his ship, and where were the pirates? He needed to find Abram.

With the woman’s help, he stood and made his way to the stairs. He stepped on deck and into the open air, and instantly began to feel better as the cool wind and saltwater mist bathed his face. The sun hung low in the east; it was just past dawn. Abram was at the wheel, talking with a young slave boy. Four of the slave men were on deck also, and they gave Whill friendly smiles. He simply nodded; even though he had no choice, he felt ashamed for killing their friends.

Abram turned, as if sensing Whill’s approach. The boy turned too. When Whill saw the child’s face, he froze. It was Tarren.

“Whill, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Abram with a warm laugh.

Tarren stood smiling, seemingly oblivious to what had happened to him. Whill reached out to touch his head and peered at the boy’s neck. There was no sign that it had ever been cut.

“Are you feeling better, Whill?” Tarren asked.

“Uh, yes...yes, I feel better.”

“That’s good, you gave us a good scare. Thank you, Whill. Thank you for saving me.” There were tears in his eyes as he flung his arms around Whill’s waist, who returned the hug and patted his back. There were a million questions on his tongue, but he bit them back behind an awkward smile.

“You’re welcome, Tarren, you’re welcome.”

Tarren released Whill after a few moments and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Abram broke the silence. “Tarren, lad, do you think you could steer the old girl for a while so I can speak with Whill?”

“Yes, sir, I sure could!”

Abram put his arm on Whill’s shoulder and led him to the front of the ship so they could talk privately.

“Abram, what’s going on? How can Tarren be alive? What happened to me back there? Where are the pirates?”

“Relax, Whill, relax. It can all be explained. First off, you have been in a feverish sleep for two days now.”

“Two days!”

“Yes. You would wake up screaming and flailing about. I assumed you were having nightmares. You have been running a high fever up until this morning. How do you feel now?”

“I’m hungry as all hell, but otherwise I feel alright. Why, what happened?”

Abram studied Whill for a moment as if trying to read something of his health. “You don’t know what you did?”

“No. After Tarren fell I took him in my arms, then everything went strange and I blacked out.”

“You healed him, Whill. You saved his life.”

Whill shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“When you went to Tarren, I was rallying the slave men to fight. Everything happened at once. The pirates attacked again; down the ropes they came and we began to fight. But you would not move. I screamed to you to get up, to fight, but you were not with us—not in mind, anyway. You just stared at Tarren, and then you put your hand upon his throat.” Abram stopped and looked at the slave men and at Tarren.

“When you touched Tarren’s throat, Whill, your hand began to glow with blue light. It was faint at first, but then it grew until it was hard to look directly at it. So bright it was that it took the attention of all who were near. Even the pirates who had just joined the fight stared in awe, transfixed by what they were witnessing. Having seen an energy healing before, I knew what was happening—and what danger you were in. As fast as I could, I ran and pushed you back to break your contact with the boy.”

Whill took in what he had just heard. “So I healed Tarren with my own energy?”

“Yes, but you didn’t know what you were doing. If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have poured all of your life force into Tarren and dropped dead on the spot.”

“But how could I have done that? Only elves have the power to heal with energy. Everyone knows that it is not a human gift.” Then he remembered the elf from his dreams, and how he had at first mistaken her for his mother. “Was my mother an elf? Is that why I was able to heal Tarren?”

Abram studied Whill for a moment, as if deciding upon something. “No, Whill, she was not.”

Whill let out a frustrated sigh. “Then why do I have such powers, and to what extent do I have them?”

Abram gave Whill a sympathetic smile. “You have a gift. I was surprised when you healed Tarren; I had no idea you would be able to tap into your abilities before you were properly trained—but you did. How you did it I do not know. It seems that your emotions were so strong,