Red Seas Under Red Skies

Ezri stared at the cargo hatch, aghast. She looked at him, then back to the hatch. "Not just them," she said. "Whole ship." "I'll go," said Jean.

She grabbed him, wrapped her arms around him so tightly he could barely breathe and whispered in his ear, "Gods damn you, Jean Ta

And then she hit him in the stomach, harder than even he had thought possible. He fell backward, doubled in agony, realizing her intentions as she released him. He screamed in wordless rage and denial, reaching for her. But she was already ru

15

Locke knows what Ezri means to do the instant he sees her make a fist, but Jean, his reflexes dulled by love or fatigue or both, plainly doesn't. And before Locke can do anything, she's hit Jean, and given him a shove backward so that Locke tumbles over him. Locke looks up just in time to see Ezri jump into the cargo hold, where an u

"Oh, Crooked Warden, damn it all to hell," he whispers, and he sees everything as time slows like cooling syrup-

Trega

Drakasha stumbling forward, sabres still in her hands, moving too slowly to stop Ezri or join her.

Jean crawling, barely able to move but willing himself after her with any muscle that will lend him force, one hand reaching uselessly after a woman already gone.

The crew of both ships staring, leaning on their weapons and on one another, the fight for a moment forgotten.

Utgar reaching for the bolt in his back, flailing feebly. It has been five seconds since Ezri leapt down into the cargo hold. Five seconds is when the screaming, the new screaming, starts.

16

She emerged from the main-deck stairs, holding it in her hands. No, more than that, Locke realized with horror — she must have known her hands wouldn't last. She must have cradled it close for that very reason.

The sphere was incandescent, a miniature sun, burning with the vivid colours of molten silver and gold. Locke felt the heat against his skin from thirty feet away, recoiled from the light, smelled the strange tang of scorched metal instantly. She ran, as best she could run; as she made her way toward the rail it became a jog, and then a desperate hop. She was on fire all the way, screaming all the way, unstoppable all the way.

She made it to the larboard rail and with one last convulsive effort, as much back and legs as what was left of her arms, she heaved the shipbane sphere across the gap to the Dread Sovereign. It grew in.1 brightness even as it flew, a molten-metal comet, and Rodanov's crew-folk recoiled from it as it landed on their deck.

You couldn't touch such a thing, she'd said — well, clearly you could. But Locke knew you couldn't touch it and live. The arrow that took her in the stomach an eyeblink later was too late to beat her throw, and too late to do any real work. She fell to the deck, trailing smoke, and then all hell broke loose for the last time that day. "Rodanov," yelled Drakasha, "Rodanov!"

There was an eruption of light and fire at the waist of the Dread Sovereign; the incandescent globe, rolling to and fro, had at last burst. White-hot alchemy rained down hatches, caught sails, engulfed crew-folk and nearly bisected the ship in seconds.

"If they would burn the Sovereign" shouted Rodanov, "all hands take the OrchidV

"Fend off," cried Drakasha, "fend off and repel boarders! Helm hard a-larboard, Mum! Hard a-larboard!"

Locke could feel a growing new heat against his right cheek; the Sovereign was already doomed, and if the Orchid didn't disentangle from her shrouds and bowsprit and assorted debris, the fire would take both ships for a meal. Jean crawled slowly toward Ezri's body. Locke heard the sounds of new fighting breaking out behind them, and thought briefly of paying attention to it, but then realized that if he left Jean now he would never forgive himself. Or deserve forgiveness. "Dear gods," he whispered when he saw her, "please, no. Oh, gods."

Jean moaned, sobbing, his hands held out above her. Locke didn't know where he would have touched her, either. There was so little her left — skin and clothing and hair burned into one awful texture. And still she moved, trying feebly to rise. Still she fought for something resembling breath.

"Valora," said Scholar Trega

Jean pounded the deck and screamed. Trega

"Valora," she said, "take this. She's dead already. She needs you, for the gods" sakes." "No," sobbed Jean. "No, no, no—"

"Valora, look at her, gods damn it. She is beyond all help. Every second is an hour to her and she is praying for this knife."

Jean snatched the knife from Trega

"I'm sorry," said Trega

Jean said nothing. Locke opened his eyes again and saw Jean rising as though in a trance, his sobs all but stifled, the dagger still held loosely in his hand. He moved, as though he saw nothing of the battle still raging behind him, across the deck toward Utgar. Ten more Orchids fell at the bow saving them, following Zamira's orders, shoving with all their might against the Sovereign with spears and boathooks and halberds. Shoving to get her bowsprit and rigging clear of the Orchid, while Rodanov's survivors at the bow fought like demons to escape. But they did it, with Mumchance's help, and the two battered ships tore apart at last.

"All hands," shouted Zamira, dazed by the effort it suddenly required, "All hands! Tacks and braces! Put us west before the wind! Fire party to main hold! Get the wounded aft to Trega

Rodanov hadn't joined the final fight to board the Orchid; Zamira had last seen him ru

18

"Help," Utgar whispered, "help, get it out, I can't reach it."

His movements were faint, and his eyes were going glassy. Jean knelt beside him, stared at him and then brought the dagger down overhand into his back. Utgar took a shocked breath; Jean brought the knife down again and again while Locke watched; until Utgar was most certainly dead, until his back was covered in wounds, until Locke finally reached over and grabbed him by the wrist. "Jean—"

"It doesn't help," said Jean, in a disbelieving voice. "Gods, it doesn't help." "I know," said Locke. "I know."

"Why didn't you stop her?" Jean launched himself at Locke, pi

"I tried," said Locke. "She pushed you into me. She knew what we" d do, Jean. She knew. Please—"

Jean released him and sat back as quickly as he had attacked. He looked down at his hands and shook his head. "Oh, gods, forgive me. Forgive me, Locke."

"Always," said Locke. "Jean, I am so, so sorry -1 wouldn't, I wouldn't have had it happen for the world. For the world, do you hear me?"