Chapter Text
Doubar came up from below deck and stretched. He might have been at home aboard ship but the quarters below deck weren’t really designed for a man of his height; something he’d thought to change when he had one of his own, until he realised the logic of keeping her light and fast. There was a dull pop in his lower back and he grimaced; maybe Firouz could design something will a little more space without ending up with a wallowing merchant gally.
He swept the deck with a practiced eye, squinting against late morning sunlight reflecting off the waves. All seemed in order. Taking in a lungful of bracing sea air he let out a boisterous greeting to the nearest sailor, stomping along the deck with much back-slapping and joking as he made sure of that first impression.
As he neared the stern he saw the familiar figure of Sinbad at the tiller. He headed in that direction, though as he did he saw things were less familiar than he’d thought. Usually, his little brother would be standing; alert to any changes in the wind or waves and bantering with anyone coming in ear-shot. This morning he was leaning against the rail, one hand steadying the heavy wooden pole as the other rubbed at his eyes.
“Little brother!” he yelled, grinning at the flinch of the sailor standing near him. “You look like you had a heavy night, or did you cover the dawn watch without telling me?”
Sinbad grinned back at him, the expression at odds with the dark smudges under his eyes.
“As if I would stay up drinking without you for company,” he replied, stifling a yawn with his free hand. “I didn’t sleep well last night; some tune stuck in my head that kept going round and round. Maybe I should have relieved Rongar, then I could be sleeping while he coped with your morning breath.”
The fondness of his tone took any sting out of the words, but Doubar didn’t like the slight pallor he could see now he was closer. He reached as if to clasp his brother’s hand in greeting, instead pulling him up from the rail and trading places.
“We can do without you for a couple of hours if you think you can sleep.”
Doubar tried not to sound like a worried mother hen, even if part of him wished Sinbad was still small enough to be carried to bed over one shoulder.
“Or I’ll see if Firouz has mastered that way of drying roast coffee beans he was talking about, so you only need dissolve them in hot water.” At Doubar’s frown Sinbad continued, resting an earnest hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Even making good time we’re still days out from Basra. I don’t want to run low on supplies or fresh water, so we need all hands working while the wind is good.”
“We won’t make good time if our stubborn ass of a Captain falls asleep at the tiller and steers us around in circles.”
The slight Irish lilt did nothing to mellow Maeve’s irritated tone as she strode up to the two men, raising her glove for Dermott as he swept in from where he’d been perched among the shrouds.
“How do you even know what we were talking about?” Sinbad grumbled, caught off guard.
“Dermott was listening for me,” she replied with a satisfied smile, her gaze softening as she stroked the soft feathers of his ruff. “Now are you going below for a bit, or do I have to drag you by one ear like a stubborn child?”
Sinbad looked between his brother and Maeve, shaking his head wearily as he saw no give in either expression. He turned to the hawk, shrugging a touch theatrically.
“It’s a sad day when the Captain doesn’t have a say on his own ship, don’t you think Dermott?” A chirp was his only response so he continued. “Fine, if you agree with them I have no choice.”
Turning to walk away he cast a final remark over one shoulder.
“Promise you’ll send someone to wake me if I’m not up in a few hours?”
“If you can stay away from the deck that long I’ll send a search party!” Doubar said, laughing wryly.
***
Doubar was proved right in about an hour, though it wasn’t him that Sinbad brushed past as he came back on deck.
Rongar stared after the other man, a hint of worry in his expression. To a casual eye the Captain would have appeared deep in thought, to Rongar he seemed almost dazed; not putting a foot wrong on the swaying deck but also not looking at the crew who nodded to him in passing, only stopping when he reached the bow.
Rongar walked to the rail and looked out; he couldn’t see anything that would have attracted the other man’s attention but Sinbad kept staring out over the waves towards the horizon, face not blank but wearing a look of abstracted concentration. Not for the first time Rongar wished he could simply go over and ask his Captain what was wrong, not for the first time he pushed aside that hopeless want and made his silent way to find someone who could.
Maeve was reading, leaning back against some cargo out of the way, when she felt a steady pressure of eyes on her. Snapping the book closed she looked up sharply, prepared to let her interrupter know exactly what she thought of them. Instead of a nosey sailor however, she saw Rongar, his hand extended politely to help her to her feet. Swallowing any irate words she took it, inclining her head to the only member of the crew who seemed to have any manners.
“Do you need me?” she asked, glancing around to see if anything was obviously lacking magical intervention.
Rongar gently turned her and pointed towards the bow. She saw Sinbad, eyes fixed on the horizon and seemingly heedless of the light spray occasionally dashing over him.
“What’s that fool doing back on deck?” she flared, crossing her arms. “I swear, Doubar should tie him to the bed if he’s not going to heed sensible advice.”
Looking back to Rongar she felt his expression seemed a touch too knowing for her taste.
“Not that I care how well he takes care of himself,” she added hastily. “I just care that he gets us back to port in one piece.”
Rongar was already walking back towards the bow in his measured way; she hurried to catch up, pushing past to tap Sinbad firmly on the shoulder.
“Do I have to get Dermott to keep a watch on your room? He won’t be near as gentle as I would, when it comes to keeping you there.”
Maeve blushed, spotting too late how that last sentence could be taken. She opened her mouth to give Sinbad no time to respond, then realised he hadn’t even turned to acknowledge her. She moved to stand next to him, searching his face. There was more colour there than before but under his eyes still looked faintly bruised, eyes that seemed to be lost in thought.
“Sinbad?” she tried, trying to quell a faint shiver of unease. She shook him lightly by the shoulder.
“I’m trying to listen,” he replied absently, barely seeming to notice her touch. “I feel like I almost know this song…”
He trailed off, head tilting slightly as if trying to catch a faint sound. Maeve looked at Rongar, seeing her own puzzlement reflected on his face.
“Sinbad we can’t hear any singing.” When he didn’t respond she did the only thing she could think of and pinched him hard on the arm. “Sinbad!”
He jumped, yanking his arm away and looking around at her with a startled expression.
“Maeve! What was that for?”
“You were just standing there like a moonstruck fawn, babbling about a song. What did you hear, that you thought you could ignore us and not think of the worry you’d cause?”
His brow furrowed in confusion, looking from her to Rongar as he rubbed his arm.
“I don’t…I was asleep in my cabin and someone was singing, it woke me up and I…” Sinbad looked around, seemingly just now recognising they were standing on deck. He looked at her, eyes wide and face paler than before. “I don’t remember coming out here. I remember hearing the music; it was faint but it sounded so familiar. I was trying to listen, to hear the words so I would know it. The next thing I remember was you yelling in my ear.”
Maeve reached out and felt his forehead, trying not to look worried. His brow felt cool but she lingered for a brief moment, giving in to the temptation to drift her fingertips over the silk of his hairline as she withdrew.
“Maybe you only thought you woke,” she ventured. “You were tired, sometimes a powerful dream can make you think you’re other places.”
“Something I’d like to avoid on a vessel out at sea,” he replied flippantly, tossing his head as if to shake the last remnants of fog from his brain. “Bed was a fine idea Maeve, but I think working in the fresh air will see me better than tossing and turning below decks. Nothing like honest labour to quiet a man’s mind.”
“If your mind were any quieter you’d be unconscious.” Maeve huffed, trying to let herself be reassured.
“Then I will leave you to your noisy thoughts.”
Sinbad left with an ironic bow, leaving Maeve and Rongar to look at each other in silence. Maeve’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve until she forcibly stilled them. Rongar caught her eye, pointing to himself then over the deck to where Sinbad was hoisting himself into the rigging. Maeve shrugged and gestured to her book.
“You keep an eye on him if you want, I have other things to do.”
She strode off, too quickly to notice Rongar wearily shaking his head.
***
Firouz sighed happily. The sea was calm, the light was good, none of the crew had disturbed him in hours; perfect conditions for science. The bench in front of him was littered with dishes and scraps of scribbled notes. So far, the reaction from the burned seaweed ash seemed the most interesting – with powdered crystal from that thermal vent and a touch of acid it produced a regular brown liquid but a riveting purple vapor, once he understood the applications...
With his brain humming contentedly he barely noticed the visitor to his cabin, until a soft clearing of the throat startled him from his thoughts.
“Maeve, hello my dear, lovely to see you.” Unable to see a clear space he swept some papers into a pile to allow her to sit down. “Is this a social visit, or am I needed on deck?”
The sorceress shifted awkwardly, expression warring between stubborn and embarrassed.
“What do you know of sleepwalking?” she finally said, rushing her words like they were escaping her.
“A fascinating subject!” Firouz replied warmly, always keen to share. “We don’t exactly why it happens; some people not only walk but carry out an approximation of their daily activities, all without knowing or remembering.”
“And it’s safe?”
Firouz winced. “Well...mostly. People still aren’t aware of their surroundings, so they can fall, trip or break things. Doubar might be able to tell you more, I’m sure I heard Sinbad used to sleepwalk when he was a child.”
Maeve startled, then her lips pursed.
“Of course, why am I not surprised he was getting himself into trouble; making other folks run ragged trying to keep him out of harm’s way.”
A little taken aback by her vehement muttering, Firouz took his time with a response.
“I hear many children sleepwalk and most grow out of it,” he ventured, trying to work out what she wanted from him. “It’s not really something you can control?”
Maeve threw her hands up, looking exasperated. “I don’t need to control it, just to make it stop!” she snapped, frustration bleeding into her tone.
“I’m so sorry my dear, I didn’t realise.” Firouz felt a rush of sympathy for the normally independent woman, realizing what a struggle it would be for her to ask for help. “Are you under undue stress? With the loss of Dim-Dim, and then Rumina pursuing us; I should have guessed that you would be having trouble sleeping. I believe I have certain herbs that…”
Gentle hands grasped his, halting his scrambled search through various drawers in his desk.
“Thank you Firouz, that is an excellent idea. If a deeper sleep is what’s needed, I believe I have all I need among my things.”
She swept out, leaving him scratching his head with an absent smile. At least he’d helped, however he’d managed it.
***
Doubar shifted uneasily in his bed, sleep a distant stranger. Maybe Maeve’s worry was infecting him as well; Allah knew she’d watched Sinbad like a hawk all day, including using an actual hawk to do it! Then at their evening meal she’s arrived with that cup of steaming green liquid – he’d seen tea before and it was never that colour, whatever she claimed. Firouz did say he recognized the smell of herbs to aid sleep, though he blushed when he looked at Maeve as if he’d done something to embarrass himself.
Sinbad had protested, but a blind man could have seen he’d been flattered; a token argument hiding real pleasure that Maeve had seemingly thought of his wellbeing. It hadn’t smelt half bad, though the taste must have left something to be desired, judging by his grimace as he downed it.
Doubar groaned and sat up. If Sinbad was sleeping peacefully then why wasn’t he? Being the elder brother didn’t stop just because they were grown, especially give the last time he’d let Sinbad go off on his own the boy had vanished for two years. He would go to the galley and get some water from the barrel, maybe take a turn on deck to check the watch was being kept. If that happened to take him past Sinbad’s cabin…well, that was his own business and nothing for anyone else to comment on.
The ship was never fully quiet, the creak of timber and occasional muffled snore a good counterpoint to the dull slapping of waves resonating through the wood. Sinbad’s cabin was dark, silent, and empty.
Doubar swore under his breath, trying to smother an unreasonable twist of fear.
“I swear little brother,” he muttered, heading for the deck, “There better be a damn good reason you’re not in bed. I have half a mind to let Maeve have the keeping of you, maybe then you’d stay put.”
The ever-present tang of salt in the air was muted by the cold as Doubar stepped out; a very different exit from earlier that morning where he’d revelled in taking up space, this time he walked softly, automatically avoiding any creaking sections of wood.
The deck was a shifting pattern of light and dark, the glow of scattered lanterns fighting against wind and the shadows of sails. It did nothing to hide the figure of his brother, standing balanced on the port rail as easily as another man would stand on the steps of his house, fingers barely curled around a shroud line as the ship bucked lightly with the night swell.
Sinbad’s name caught in his throat as Doubar moved closer. There was unnatural tension in his brother’s body, feet set but upper body inclined forward, as if fighting an urge to step out and off, his eyes open but staring blankly into the dark water. Any hesitation was obliterated as Doubar saw Sinbad’s fingers starting to uncurl. He had always been able to move fast when it counted; racing forward he clasped Sinbad bodily around the hips, lifting him up and away from the edge as easily as when he’d been an adventurous toddler.
He didn’t expect Sinbad to suddenly become a dead weight, slumping until he was bent forward over Doubar’s arms. Struggling not to drop him, Doubar laid his brother face up on the deck, kneeling next to him to support his head.
“Sinbad,” he croaked, working to get moisture back to his suddenly dry lips and tongue. “Are you alright, what in the blazes were you doing up there?”
Sinbad gave a low groan, his brows drawing together in a pained frown.
“It’s so loud,” he slurred. His eyelids fluttered, a hand coming up in an uncoordinated attempt to rub at his temple before his gaze slid to Doubar, struggling to focus on his face. “All I can hear…I can’t, I’ll go to her but…”
He broke off, jaw clenching against a hiss of pain.
“Go to who little brother, what are you talking about?” Doubar tried to help him into a sitting position, but just ended up with Sinbad’s head lolled back against his shoulder as he braced him against his chest. Hearing hesitant footsteps approaching he looked up, seeing the anxious face of the crewmember on watch. He pointed sharply at the door leading below decks, mouthing ‘get Firouz’ before turning back to his brother, who had begun to mutter softly.
“She won’t stop singing,” he whispered, curling into Doubar in a way he’d previously left behind with childhood. “Why can’t you hear?”
Doubar looked at him, relieved some lucidity was back in his eyes, eyes that now actually seemed to be seeing him. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “Just hold on, we’re going to fix whatever this is.”
The next minute Firouz was at their side. Doubar pulled one of Sinbad’s arms over his neck, motioning for the scientist to do the same with the other. “Help me get him back to his room,” he said quickly, forestalling the other’s questions. “And rouse Maeve on the way, we may need her.”
“Maeve?” Firouz repeated, bracing as the two of them began to guide Sinbad’s stumbling progress. “I thought Sinbad was just having trouble sleeping; do you think some sort of magic is involved?”
Doubar nodded grimly.
“And not the good kind?”
Doubar shook his head. “When do we ever get to have encounters with the good kind?” he said brusquely, thumping his fist against Maeve’s door as they passed.
By the time they propped Sinbad up on his bed she was with them, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“This is no hour of the morning for casual conversation,” she grumbled, but there was also concern in her voice as she looked over at Sinbad. “What’s wrong?”
“I believe Doubar’s hypothesis is that the Captain’s under some kind of spell.” Firouz spoke quickly as he bent over the bed. Sinbad had sagged back to lean against the wall, one arm over his eyes as his head tossed restlessly back and forth. Firouz took his pulse, then tried to pull the arm away to look at his face. “Are you sure it’s not a medical problem? Sensitivity to light, pain, confusion…Aretaeus of Cappadocia wrote of a condition called heterocrania that could explain all of this.”
“Does it explain hearing singing so loud you can’t think?” Doubar turned to Maeve in frustration. “He said something about ‘going to her’. I found him standing on the ship’s rail, about to jump into the water. You have to be able to do something!”
“Be calm Doubar, let me look at him.”
Maeve slipped smoothly into the place Firouz vacated, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning in to cup Sinbad’s cheek. With her other hand she gently drew his arm away, bending forward until their foreheads touched, her hair swinging forward to curtain their faces.
“There now,” she murmured, her eyes closed. “That doesn’t feel like you. How did I miss that before?”
Pulling back a bit she cupped his face in both hands, resting her fingers lightly over his ears. A misty glow collected around them as she began to chant softly.
“Moon on sea, mirror bright, shield this sailor with your light.”
As she repeated the rhyme Doubar saw the lines of hurt in his brother’s face begin to soften, the agitated jerks of his head subsiding until he lay still. His eyes opened, a soft smile blossoming on his face.
“It looks like your magic has come to my rescue again Maeve.”
She began to smile in return, then jerked away, almost knocking his head against the wall as she snatched her hands back.
“Maybe if you could keep yourself out of trouble for five minutes you wouldn’t need my magic so often!” She shuffled over, letting him swing his legs around to sit properly next to her. “Care to explain what’s going on?”
“I would if I could,” he replied, looking to the other men as well. “I thought this was all a dream. I could hear this voice in my head, someone singing – I couldn’t tell you the words, but there was this feeling I had to go to them. The next thing I know Doubar has me lying on deck and it feels like my head is splitting open; it was more like screaming than any singing I’ve ever heard.”
He paused, glancing worriedly between the three of them. “None of you heard anything?”
They all shook their heads.
“Have you ever encountered this kind of magic before Maeve?” he asked seriously. “I’d hate to think someone was reaching out for help and we ignored them.”
Doubar snorted. “This didn’t feel like trying to get help, this felt like an attack.”
“Not necessarily.” Sinbad looked thoughtful. “We’ve met people before that weren’t in full control of their abilities. Maybe hurting me was an accident?”
Maeve shook her head, lips pursed thin. “Doubar’s right Sinbad, I don’t trust whoever did this. The magic felt less like asking and more like taking.”
“Then all the better that you’ve broken the spell.” Sinbad grinned, but the expression faded when her face remained solemn.
“All I’ve done is shield you, and I don’t know for how long; whoever did this won’t be happy until you’re off this ship and in her power. The faster we’re ashore the better, maybe then I can figure out a way to block the influence permanently.”
“Basra is still the closest safe harbour,” Sinbad said firmly. “Besides, if we put in anywhere else we’ll be late with the Sultan’s delivery. I want to try and make up for the trouble caused last time we were there.”
“You know as well as I do the Sultan had no hard feelings.” Maeve’s tone was clipped, concern and irritation feeding each other as they so often did. “You need to stop thinking about your precious reputation and take this more seriously!”
“And I think you need to have more confidence in yourself.” Sinbad matched her tone, drawing himself straighter as the two of them squared off. “You’ve proven the strength of your magic again and again, why is it a surprise that I want to trust you?”
“You mean put pressure on me!” Maeve’s eyes flashed. “We have no idea whether this person is using their full strength; I could get overwhelmed, or distracted, or tired…if I fail to throw off this influence the next time, it’s you that suffers.”
Firouz clapped his hands together suddenly, interrupting the bickering.
“I suggest, in that case, that we all head back to our own cabins and get some sleep. We can decide what to do in the morning, with rested minds.”
Maeve and Sinbad shared a guilty look. He stood, offering his hand to help her up.
“Besides,” he added in a conciliatory tone, “Now I know it’s happening, maybe it will help me resist the effect.”
Maeve looked doubtful. “I don’t know Sinbad, I think you have been resisting. Yesterday on deck and with Doubar tonight – you’re obviously fighting this but I’m worried it’s getting strong enough to overwhelm us both.” She paused, thinking. “I’d feel better if you stayed down here for the rest of the journey, away from any…temptation.”
Sinbad was shaking his head when suddenly there was an almighty banging on the cabin door. Doubar wrenched it open, having to step back to avoid colliding with the crewman who rushed in.
“Captain Sinbad…!”
The man’s voice tailed off as he took in the number of people crammed into the snug space, trying not to gape. Rongar appeared in the doorway, obviously drawn by the noise; they could all now hear the ship’s bell tolling and the commotion of people scrambling through the narrow hallways.
The pause stretched out, until Rongar tapped the stunned man on the shoulder and urgently gestured towards Sinbad.
“I’m sorry Captain,” he gulped. “I came to tell you the wind’s high and against the current. Too dark to see the clouds but I think a storm is coming, fast.”
Sinbad dropped Maeve’s hand, any hesitation falling away. “Sorry Maeve, looks like the sea doesn’t agree; you can’t exactly tie me to my bed. I’m awake, I’ve got your shield; it’ll have to do.”
The men began to head for the deck, when Maeve made to follow Sinbad put out a hand.
“You’re becoming a good sailor, but this is no time for a novice on deck.” Sensing her imminent protest his tone softened. “Maybe I should follow your advice the way I want you to follow mine. Stay below, look after Dermott; when this blows out we’ll make for the nearest safe cove.”
She let him go, not sure whether to feel shocked or pleased. With a warm flutter in her chest, she headed for her own cabin. Dermott was shifting restlessly on his perch, chuffing softly to himself as she entered. He couldn’t really fly in the close confines, but he was becoming adept at the type of hopping glide that took him easily to her hand.
“I’m sorry I left you so long,” she soothed, rubbing her cheek against the soft, fine feathers on his crown. “Sinbad’s gone and gotten himself into more trouble.”
She pottered around the small room, making sure her scant possessions were securely fastened.
“And now we’re going to be tossed around down here, while the brave boys prove their worth by fighting the elements.” She kept up her one-sided conversation, finding comfort in the verbalisation of her thoughts. “At least they’re going to listen to me for once. As if they know anything about magic, that they should do anything else?”
She could feel the ship beginning to buck and toss in earnest, little moments of weightlessness causing her stomach to clench. Climbing onto her bed she wedged herself in the corner where it met the wall, trying to keep Dermott close without crowding him.
"If Sinbad thinks this is a storm, he's never crossed the Irish sea."
Another lurch of her stomach stopped her attempts to make light. Swallowing hard she leant her head back, absently smoothing Dermott's feathers. From a certain perspective the rough movements had a certain pattern; trying to distance her mind from the physical she put herself in a light meditative trance, focusing on the rhythm of waves and strange, wild howl of the wind. It was almost musical.
Maeve stilled, her stomach dropping for a totally different reason. Listening normally all she could hear was the storm. Forcing herself back in the trance, senses attuned to the magic within and without; the air and water reverberated with a wordless, crooning hum. Even with it directed elsewhere she could feel a gentle pull towards the water. Unfortunately, she knew exactly who would be the focus. Very calmly she helped Dermott back to his perch, then ran to the cabin door, clawing at the handle. Flinging herself down the corridor, knocking off walls in her haste as the ship pitched, she reached the deck.
It was like walking into a wall of water, the rain driving sideways into her face and eyes, her hands barely able to grip the lines. She shouted and couldn't even hear her own words. Reeling, she tried to make her way around to the tiller, clutching the stair rail as her feet slid and slithered. Just as her numb fingers began to slip, firm hands gripped her shoulders and she was picked up and sheltered against a secured crate.
"What are you doing out here lass?" Doubar roared in her ear, holding them both firm. "Get below before you go over!"
"She's using the storm!" Maeve yelled as loud as she could, careless of how close their heads were in her effort to out-scream the wind. "Feeding off the natural energy to amplify her magic. Where's Sinbad? We have to get him off the deck!"
Doubar looked at her in horror. The ship listed, wallowing as a wave crashed broadside over the deck.
"He was at the tiller…but he'd never steer across a wave like that," he cried, tucking her against his side as he pulled both of them up the stairs.
Reaching the stern, they stopped at the sight of the unmanned tiller swinging back and forth. Sinbad was nowhere in sight.