Chapter six: Death of a Kind

GNS DD-548 Denadaro

Captain Sheridan cursed for the third time in a minute. He didn't think not to get so upset in from of his crew; they knew his moods, and knew that this one, like all the others, would be over quickly. The could not, for the life of them, figure out what had him so upset; sure, their targets were in a nasty cyclone, but that was no big deal. All the captain had to do was order his ships to stay seaward of the storm and wait for the targets to either sink or come out of the maelstrom.

It ought to have been easy. Or so Sheridan had thought. After all, his DS.34 was the most advanced group of ships in any navy. Even those uppity Chorans had nothing to compete. Besides his own destroyer, Sheridan had under his command no fewer than two other destroyers, four frigates, and a full half-dozen corvettes. All of which failed to mention the destroyer tender, ammunition ship, and fueler that supported him. Or the fact that the little replen detachment was protected by two more frigates.

As to what he was cursing about, Sheridan knew he had no choice. Not that he had to like it, of course. Trying to keep his little fleet organized in that storm would have been an impossible task, not to mention the idea of trying to actually intimidate Aeron into surrendering. More likely, the warlock would end up having a hearty laugh at the GRN's expense, easily keeping out of the scattered fleet's reach. So it was that, after several straight minutes of sulking, he finally gave the order that the entire crew had already known was coming. " Helm, steer us seaward of the storm."

"Aye, sir."

Though it had been but an hour since the first rain band of the storm hit, to Freya it seemed as though there had never been anything in the world but wind and waves. The little boat was swamped, and her dragoon's hat had been blown away some time ago. She and Crimson both retained their weapons and packs and the clothes on their backs, but little enough else. Onward marching, relentless, the waves came over them not in sheets but as walls of water. Occasionally, when they rode a wave's crest instead of being crushed by it, they could spot foamy waters: the rocks of South Xenan's eastern coast. Each time they were closer, and each time she found herself wishing that they would just crash already and be done with it. Judging from Crimson's occasional grumble and the sour look on his face, she guessed that he probably felt much the same way.

They should have been careful what they wished for. With a bone-jarring jolt, they crashed into a rocky spire jutting from the sea. Though the beleaguered knights held on, the impact pushed the boat to one side and capsized it. The two immediately let go, but they weren't swept away from the rock in time. They were smashed against the rock, and the launch against them. Crimson took the brunt of the impact, and Freya heard him bellow in pain as its impact crushed him. She didn't escape unscathed, though; something sharp tore into her right side, ripping a gash that stung from the salty sea and the splinters now embedded in it. Such a wound would only have slowed a being with a body as massive as Crimson's; but to Freya's slim body, it was a mortal wound.

Freya heard Crimson cry out her name in a strangled voice, but she hurt too much to reply. Breathing was difficult. As she struggled to stay conscious enough to keep her head above the waves, something grabbed her and began dragging her. She tried to struggle, but stopped when a gruff but familiar voice made her aware that an arm, not a wave, was carrying her.

"Dammit, stop struggling," Crimson panted between gasps for air and grunts of pain. "This is difficult enough!" After another minute or so of Hell, they were ashore. Crimson grimaced as he lifted her in both arms and, teeth gritted, hiked for a place that was safe from the waves. After a short time, he found it in the form of a path of sorts, stumbling up a shallow cleft in the cliff face. It was treacherous going, but they made it to the top without falling back down the face. Crimson set Freya down as gently as his beaten, broken body allowed before collapsing to the ground beside her. Slowly, she turned her head towards him. His only obvious injury was a deep, flowing gash on his left bicep, but Freya knew there had to be even worse than that from the look of defeat on his face.

He fixed her with a weak, brave smile and formed his words carefully. "Lady Freya, it has been an honor and a pleasure serving with you."

Though she wished she could deny it, she knew that he was right. Neither of us will live much longer. With effort, she returned his smile, and formed her own words as carefully as he had formed his. "I assure you, Sir Crimson, that the honor was mine." To think that I've come all this way, only to have my life end like this . . . Together, they prepared to enter the void.

Because of the rain, she couldn't see the tears coming from his eyes as he felt himself start to slip away. "I shall miss your company on the coming journey. . ."

"Nonsense," Freya protested weakly. "I'm coming with you. I have to. How else will the keepers of the dead know that you are no demon?"

"Joking. . . at such a time. . . Ha!. Such a pity. . ." His voice trailed off and his grip on her hand loosened.

"No pity," Freya insisted. "I said I'm. . . coming with you. . . ." Freya's own vision was starting to fade, and couldn't even cry bitter tears. It seemed somehow wrong to her, in those last moments, that they should meet such an end and she couldn't so much as shed a tear. Fratley, my love, we'll be together again soon . . .

Just then, something almost incomprehensibly odd happened. Freya began to lose contact with her body and surroundings even more quickly than before, until they were all nothing but faint wisps, moving at a glacial pace as her reckoning of time slowed. She looked down at herself and saw that she was glowing, and becoming brighter as fresh energy poured into her from an unseen source. Freya's first thought was that Crimson was sacrificing what life he had to save her, and she wished she could see him to thank him. And she did find him, right in front of her, and realized the energy was not coming from him. His glow was pleasant to touch, Freya found, while the energy flowing into her had a different feeling that she would forever be unable to describe. If only I could rouse him to this state, and share this energy, Freya thought to herself. Or, she thought it was to herself.

'He's too far gone for that,' announced a woman's voice. It seemed to come from all directions, and the dragoon couldn't see the source any better than she could see the Akula.

'Who are you?'

'I am, for the moment, your benefactor. And that is all you need concern yourself with.'

'What do you mean, 'too far gone'?'

'You are both still alive. And before you ask, no, I have not slowed time. Once removed from the concerns of the body, the mind works remarkably quickly. Thus, it does seem as though time is slowed. This will give you nearly ten, rather than two, minutes in which to decide what to do with the energy I've just given to you.'

Freya didn't even hesitate. 'I will save Crimson.' The voice, however, continued as though she had said nothing.

'You can either use it to save yourself, or you can attempt to bond your mind to his, enabling you to share the energy with him and save both of your lives.'

'Why can't you give him energy, the way you did to me?'

'Though I can tell by his nature he is no demon, he has some similar powers. I am a stranger to him, and his mental defenses are very formidable. I cannot say for certain they wouldn't destroy me if I attempted to break them. You, however, are known to him; more than that, he trusts you.' Freya tried to reach out to him, hoping that would somehow form the "bond" that the being had described. However, she was stopped by something.

Or someone.

'Release me!' Freya ordered.

'Creating this bond will change the both of you! You have no idea what you are about to try!'

'Then educate me!' impatiently demanded the dragoon. Almost to her surprise, the voice complied.

'Besides the fact that it rarely works between those who are not of my kind, there are consequences even if you succeed. If you fail, he will be unable to accept the energy and its backlash will kill you.'

'And if I succeed?'

'Your lives will be tied. Close proximity will bring pleasure; distance, pain. Each will feel what the other feels. If you stub your toe, he will feel it; if someone steps on his foot, yours will ache, whether you are present or not. The opposite, however, is also true - if one of you takes a warm bath, the relaxation will be shared. If one of you is happy, the other will find it difficult to be upset.'

'But it would enable me to save his life?'

'Yes. But don't forget – although it is not permanent, it will last for weeks at least. Were your minds more compatible, it would be permanent.'

'This bond isn't marriage, is it?'

The voice paused before answering, 'Not necessarily. In its permanent form, it might as well be – but yours would be temporary, as I said.'

Freya sighed. 'No matter. Even if it were to be permanent, I could not sacrifice another on the altar of my happiness.'

'So you still wish to do it.'

'Yes.'

'Very well, then.' The restraints holding Freya dissipated, and she could move once again. As her mind began its slow return to her body, subjective time accelerated. She had little time, but it would have to be enough. She latched her mind and his together without quite understanding how she knew what to do. As she began to give him the energy that had been given to her, she was surprised to feel Crimson's mind latch itself to hers as well. They shared brief exultation as they realized it had worked; overjoyed at her success, she continued the outpour of energy.

The voice entered her mind again, sounding a bit panicked. 'Stop! Enough! You need some too, if you want to live!' Freya did stop, but as the passage of time returned to normal, all went black. She had given too much of herself.