Ship of Destiny

"But you do, don't you?"

Wintrow sighed. "Yes. I do. Sometimes, at night, when I try to meditate, when I try to find my place in his world, I ca

A shadow of anger crossed her face. "Perhaps what is missing is not from him, but from you. Perhaps you lose faith whenever Sa's path for you carries you where you do not wish to go."

Her words numbed him. He had never expected to hear such a rebuke from her, let alone to have it ring so true. She spoke on. "Ke

"Sa's hand can fit around any tool," he muttered. Then, an instant later, he burst out, "But why must he take my ship from me? Not just take her, but change her to a creature I don't even recognize? Why must he kill those who came only to take us home? I don't understand that, Etta, and I never shall!"

"Perhaps because you have already determined that you will not understand it?" She met his gaze steadily. "I read, in a book you gave me, that our words shape our reality. Look at what your words have just done to what is. You have reshaped it to make it a grievance against yourself. Your ship, you say. Is she? Was she ever anyone's ship? Or was she a living creature, imprisoned in an unfamiliar body and then claimed as a possession? Has Ke

All he could do was look at her. Although he had had a hand in her transformation, the changes in her could still astonish him. She no longer flew at him with blows when he crossed her will. She did not need to; the edge of her tongue was as cutting as any blade. He had recognized her intelligence and respected her cu

Those words shut the door between them, closing him off from her life and her light. She was Ke

"I wasn't sure, at first. Yet, ever since a certain night, I have had a feeling it was so. And today, when he sent me away, as he has never done before, I thought perhaps there might be a reason. So I sat here and I tested myself with a needle on a thread held over my palm. It swung so violently there can be no doubt. All indications are that I carry a son, a man to follow after him." She took her hand from his and proudly set it upon her flat belly.

Misery numbed Wintrow. "You must be very happy." He forced the words past his choking pain.

Her smile dimmed a fraction. "And that is all you have to say to me?" she asked.

It was all he dared to say. Every other thought was better left unuttered. He bit his tongue and looked at her in helpless silence.

She gave a small sigh and looked aside. "I had hoped for more. Foolish, I suppose. But Ke

"Like in the old tales," Wintrow managed to say. "A soothsaying of wonders to come."

She turned aside from him, suddenly embarrassed to have dreamed such large dreams for her child. Wintrow made a valiant effort to set aside the hurt boy in himself and speak as both a man and a priest to her. "I have no prophecies for you, Etta. No Sa-sent foretelling, no inspired prognostication. I believe that if this child is pledged to greatness, his heritage will come just as much from you as from his father. I see this in you, right now: that regardless of what other folk do or do not see in your child, he will always reign in your heart. You will see the value of him long before others do, and know that the greatest trait he will carry is simply that he is himself. A child takes root in his parents' acceptance. Your baby already has that gift from you."

His words moved her as if he had spoken a prophecy. She glowed. "I ca

Wintrow took a deep breath. Sureness filled him, and if Sa inspired him to speak, he knew it was then. "I counsel you to keep these tidings secret for a time yet. His mind is so full of concerns just now. Wait for a time when he truly needs to hear it."

"Perhaps you are right in this," she said regretfully.

Wintrow doubted she would heed him.

THE SQUALL THAT HAD THREATENED ALL DAY HAD FOUND THEM. PARAGON turned his face up, and tasted the last rain he would ever know. The chop of the waves jolted against him, but could do little to rock him as his heavy bulk settled ever deeper. The pounding on the hatch cover had weakened. The oil-fed fires that Ke

Inside him, Amber wept. That was hard to bear. He had not realized how much he had come to cherish her. And Clef. And Brashen, so proud to be his captain. Resolutely, he forced such thoughts away. He must not give in to them now. The carpenter had crawled as far forward in his bow as she could get under the deck. Despite the pain of her scalds, she had dragged herself through the cold water flooding his holds. He wished she had succumbed to the numbing water; it would be a kinder end. But she lived, and clung to his mainstem and spoke faintly. He held himself back from her.

A serpent butted against him. "Hey. Stupid. Are you just going to let them do this to you?" The creature's tone was disdainful. "Wake up. You've as much a right to live as she does."

"I've as much a right to die, also," Paragon retorted. Then he wished he had not roused himself to speak, for now he was aware of Amber's agonized words as well.

"Paragon. Paragon, I don't want to die. Not like this. Not with all my work unfinished. Please, ship. Please don't do this." She was weeping, and her tears scalded him as sharply as serpent venom.

"No one has the right to die uselessly," the serpent proclaimed. Paragon recognized his voice now. He was the one who had shouted mockingly at the other serpents as they attacked him. He butted Paragon again. It was a

"Dying is the most useful thing I can do for Ke

The serpent pressed his head against Paragon's listing hull and pushed hard. "I do not speak of 'ke