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She laughed aloud instead. ‘Oh, Wintrow, you are such a lad,’ she exclaimed.

She said the words with such fondness that he looked up in surprise.

‘Yes, you,’ she went on at his glance. ‘You’ve been fair green with jealousy since I told you, almost as if I were your mother about to forsake you for a new baby.

’ She shook her head. He suddenly wondered if his jealousy pleased her.

‘Sometimes, between you and Kennit, you span the foolishness of all men. Him, with his stiffness and coldness and manly reluctance to admit any need, and you with your great puppy eyes begging for any moment of attention I can spare you. I didn’t realize how flattered I was by it until you stopped.

’ She canted her head at him. ‘Talk to me as you used to. I haven’t changed, really.

There is a child growing inside me. It’s not a disease or a madness. Why does it trouble you so?’

He let the words come almost before he knew what he was going to say. ‘Kennit is going to have everything: the ship, you, a son. And I will have nothing. You will all be together, and I will always be on the outside.’

She looked stunned. ‘And you want those things? The ship. A son. Me?’

Something in her voice set his heart hammering.

Did she want him to desire her? Was there in her the slightest warmth for him?

He would speak and be damned. If he had to lose everything, then at least let it be said.

Even if she banned him from her presence, she would know.

‘Yes. I want those things. The ship because she was mine. And you and a son because…’ His courage failed him.

‘Because I do,’ he finished lamely and looked at her.

Probably with puppy eyes, he cursed himself.

‘Oh, Wintrow.’ She shook her head and looked away from him. ‘You are so very young.’

‘I’m closer to your age than he is!’ he replied, stung.

‘Not in the ways that matter,’ she answered inexorably.

‘I’m only young because Kennit insists that I am,’ he retorted. ‘And you persist in believing it as well. I’m not a child, Etta, nor a sheltered acolyte. Not any more. A year on this ship would make any boy a man. Yet how am I supposed to be a man if no one allows me to be one?’

‘Manhood is not something that someone allows you,’ Etta lectured him. ‘Manhood is something a man takes for himself. Then it is recognized by others.’ She leaned down to pick up her sewing.

Wintrow stood up. His desperation was but one breath away from anger.

Why did she dismiss him with platitudes?

‘Manhood is to be taken. I see.’ As she straightened in her chair, he put two fingers under her chin and turned her startled face up to his.

He would not think. He was tired of thinking.

He leaned down and kissed her, desperately hoping that he was doing it well.

Then, as he felt her mouth under his, he forgot everything but this daring sensation.

She pulled away from him, her hand flying to cover her mouth. She took a quick breath. Her eyes were very wide. An instant later, sparks of anger kindled in them. ‘Is this how you would begin asserting you are a man? By betraying Kennit, a man who has befriended you?’

‘That was not about betrayal, Etta. That had nothing to do with Kennit. That was all about what I wished was between us, but is not.’ He took a breath. ‘I should go.’

‘Yes,’ she replied in a shaky voice. ‘You should.’

He stopped at the door. ‘If it were my son you were carrying,’ he said huskily, ‘I would have been the first to know of it. You would not have had to share such confidences with another man. You would have been sure of my joy and acceptance. I would have –’

‘Go!’ she commanded him harshly, and he went.

Althea . A faint echo from a beloved past. You’ve come to me .

‘No.’ She knew her lips moved to form the word but she did not hear her own voice speak.

She did not want to awaken. There was nothing good left in wakefulness.

She willed herself deeper, past sleep, past unconsciousness, reaching for a place where she was no longer connected to her dirtied body.

She reached for a dream in which Brashen was alive and they were in love and free.

She reached back in time to the best of times, when she had loved him and not even known it, when they had both worked the deck of a beautiful ship and her father had watched over her with approval.

And back again, even further back, to a little girl monkeying barefoot up the rigging, or sprawling on the sun-drenched foredeck to nap and dream with a dreaming figurehead.

Althea! The voice rang with joy. You have found me . I never should have doubted you.

Vivacia ? Her presence was all around Althea, stronger than a scent, more pervasive than warmth, her reality sweeter than any memory.

The being of her ship embraced her. Homecoming and farewell mingled; now, she could die in peace.

Althea willed herself to let go but instead Vivacia enveloped her with love and need.

Althea could not bear such tenderness. It beckoned her like a light and threatened her resolve.

She turned away from it. Let me go, my dear. I want to die.

And I with you. For I am made of death, a travesty, an abomination, and I am so weary of being held down here in the dark. Have not you come to free me, come so deep to take me to death?

Vivacia’s wonder and welcome horrified Althea.

To flee her own life was one thing; to end simultaneously the life of her ship was quite another.

Decisions so clear a moment ago wavered.

She pushed feebly at the ship, trying to disentangle her awareness from Vivacia’s.

Coldness crept through her from her abused body, but the more she retreated from life, the deeper she went into her ship.

I am pressed so far down, it is almost like death, the ship confirmed.

Did I know how to let go, I would. She has taken all from me, Althea.

No sea, no sky, no wind on my face. If I reach for Wintrow, she threatens to kill him.

Kennit cannot hear me at all. She keeps all awareness from me, and mocks me that I long for my humans.

I try to die, but I do not know how. Save me. Take me with you when you die.

No. Althea forbade it firmly. This, I must do alone. You must go on. She turned from her ship, but not without pain. She let go.

So this is how it is done. The heart slows, the breath comes shallower and shallower.

A poison creeps through your flesh; it will bear you away.

But I have no such reprieve from her . I have no true heart of my own, nor will a lack of breath still me.

She keeps me here, for she needs what I know.

I cannot elude her. Don’t leave me here, alone in the dark. Take me with you.

Althea felt her ship tendril through her and cling to her.

It reminded her of a child clinging to its mother’s skirts.

She endeavoured to set the link aside. Vivacia resisted but Althea was firm.

The effort of moving away from the ship stirred the embers of her life.

Somewhere, her body coughed. A bitter taste rose in her throat.

She gasped air past it, and felt her heart labour more doggedly.

No. That was not what she wanted. She wanted to let go, not to struggle.

Vivacia was making this so hard. Just let me die.

Let me die and become part of you, with my father and those who went before him.

Let me continue only in you. There is no joy left in life for me.

No. You do not want to join me. What I am now is not worth sharing. If you are going to leave life, you must leave it completely, not be trapped here in the dark with me. Please. Let us go together.

Cold closed around her. The ship’s resolve was stone: she desired death. Althea was horrified. Despite herself, she clutched at her own life and awareness. Air sighed in and out of her lungs. She could not let Vivacia follow her into death. She must be dissuaded. Ship, my beautiful Vivacia, why?

Why? You know why. Because life is ruined for me. There can be no good in any tomorrow.

In a wave, the ship’s torment washed over her.

The knowledge of her origin and the torment of her doubts plucked at Althea and near tore her loose from her body.

Stubbornly she clung to her life now. She would not let her ship end this way.

Vivacia clutched at Althea’s will and tried to drag them both under.

I am made of death! she wailed in Althea’s soul.

No! No, you are not! Althea asserted it fiercely.

She fought the ship’s plunge to nothingness, even though to do so thwarted her own desire for oblivion.

You are made of life and beauty, and the dreams of my family for a hundred years.

You are made of wind and water and wide blue days.

My beauty, my pride, you must not die. If all else fails, if darkness devours all I was, you, at least, must go on.

She opened both heart and mind to her ship, and flooded her with memories: Her father’s deep booming laugh, and the proud moment when she had first taken the wheel into her own hands.

A sun-swept vista from the crow’s nest, the horrific poetry of looking up at waves in a storm.

You cannot end with me, Althea insisted fiercely .

For if you do, all this dies with you. All this beauty, all this life.

How can you claim to be made of death? It was not his death my father poured into you, but the summation of his life.

How can you be made of death, when it was inheriting his life that quickened you?

A stillness beyond silence encompassed them both. Somewhere, Althea was aware, her body failed. Cold and dark clutched at her thoughts, but she clung to awareness, waiting for her ship to surrender and promise to go on.

And you? Vivacia asked her suddenly.

I die, my dear. It is too late for me. My body is poisoned, and so is my spirit. Nothing good is left to me.

Not even me?

Oh, my heart, you are always good in my life. Althea found a truth she had not suspected. If by living I could restore you, I would. But I fear it is too late to change my mind. When Althea reached towards her own flesh, she found only lethargy and cold.

Then you condemn to this darkness. For without you, I have not the strength nor the will to fight my way past her and take back my life. Will you leave me here, forever alone in the dark?

All thoughts were stilled for a time.

You have the courage to follow me into death, ship?

I do.

The profound wrongness of that gripped Althea.

It was not courage to surrender to that oblivion, conceding the world to those who had wronged them.

Sudden shame swept her at her cowardly flight from life.

Death could make things stop, but it could not make things right.

She abruptly despised herself for surrendering to death while the one who had destroyed her life went on living, for embracing death if it meant leaving her ship in darkness.

Then pick up your true courage, ship, and follow me back into life.

She reached for her body, but was suddenly reminded of her time under water.

How she had struggled then, trying to claw her way up through icy water.

This was worse. The tides of death offered no purchase for her desperate effort. Her own body denied her presence.

Breath was stopped. Her erratic heartbeat felt like an interruption.

In the timeless dark, she reached for consciousness, but could not find it.

Her sense of her body became ever more tentative as her self came uncentred, and her will to live frayed.

Her awareness spread wide and began to vanish in the same limitless dark that trapped Vivacia.

Althea searched for more strength to draw on, but found nothing within herself. Vivacia, she pleaded. Ship, help me!

Silence. Then, Take all I have left. I hope it will be enough.

Ship, no, wait!

Althea! Hit the deck now!

Her father’s familiar command boomed through her mind.

In reflexive response, her body jerked, and she was falling.

The wooden deck slammed against her, plank against flesh.

Eyes and mouth jolted open with the impact.

Tiny lights. Stars caught in a circle of porthole.

She lay on her back, gasping like a fish.

She rolled onto her side and vomited. The stuff was bitter and choking, clotting in her mouth and spewing from her nose.

Reflex took over. She sneezed and then gasped.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Wood to flesh, a distant voice counted the rhythm for her, Vivacia steadied the beating of her heart.

The ship was joined to her, but the connection was tenuous and fading fast. Even so, it was not just Althea’s body she laboured to heal, but her heart.

Oh, my dear, my dear. I never thought he would do something like this to you.

I misjudged him. I misjudged you. I even misjudged myself. The thought died away.

Althea blinked. She felt terrible. Bile had scoured her throat and mouth and the inside of her mouth.

There was a deep ache inside her. She sneezed again.

Her body went on working. She voluntarily took a deep breath, then pressed her palms flat to the deck.

Pain. It was so wonderful to feel pain again, to feel anything again.

‘So, Vivacia,’ she croaked. ‘We’re going to live?’

There was no reply, and only wood beneath her palms.