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jeriendhalNote: The is the last of the old material, suitably altered for the change in location. I'm still on the fence about the amnesia subplot. It's probably one of the sillier Romance cliches out there, and medically unlikely, but I'm also rather fond of the possibilities it allows.
* * *
Exhaustion overcame her grief and fear, and eventually Melanie fell asleep, rocking in the bunk like a cub in the Mother Goddess’ arms. That meant when the Windskimmer slammed itself onto the beach of the island she’d been aiming for, she was thrown out of bed and onto the cabin’s deck, still wet from water sloshed into it from the storm. Sputtering and cursing, Melanie got unsteadily to her feet, hauling herself topside.
The sailboat had beached itself on a wide, sandy shore, a nasty grinding sound coming aft as the propellers dug themselves into the white sand. Melanie slapped the shutdown button the console, stopping the motors and the awful sound. Above her head, the sail snapped in the wind, now reduced to much more sensible five kilometers an hour, while the rain had abated to a steady drizzle. In front of the bow, some ten meters up the beach, stood a thick forest of trees with fan shaped leaves.
Going by the computer map, the island was perhaps three kilometers long and two wide, rising to an elevation of fifty meters at its highest point. A notation in the system didn’t even give it a name, just a numeric navigation designation and a note with its place on the list of places requiring ground exploration.
Melanie shook herself, flinging wet, salty droplets from her fur. Then she headed up to the bow, releasing the anchor winch and hauling both anchor and chain up the beach, until she could wrap the chain around the thickest tree she could find and jamming the anchor into the sandy ground, securing the boat firmly. By the time she had finished and made her way back to the Windskimmer, the storm had ended, the wind and rain dying down completely.
She hauled herself back up onto the boat, her gait ironically unsteady and swaying now that the deck was still. Plopping herself down on the bench, Melanie considered her options. A sailboat carrying the Governor General’s brother and sister-in-law disappears in a storm, she thought. They’ll be searching for us. But how soon?
They had only been three days into their fortnight trip, with no specific destination planned. She hadn’t seen Rolas checking in with anyone on the com the entire time they’d been out. Would the search be delayed until the week was up? Longer even? She mentally added another two days to allow for worry to build up in Salli’s mind. Then she added another week to allow for Rolas’ youthful habit of remaining at sea for a month or more at a time. Then she started thinking about Rolas’ body sinking beneath raging waves and began sobbing again.
When she’d regained control once more, Melanie forced herself to get up and take inventory of the galley. The power was still on, so the freezer was still good. The battery embedded in the hull, assuming it hadn’t been damaged when the boat had beached, would be good for a month even with the props running flat out. Between the freezer and the pantry’s contents, she could eat heartily for about a month, longer if she rationed things. Water came from the boat’s distillation plant, and it would be essentially unlimited if she could find a hose and run it out into the surf, having no wish to consume anymore of her own reconstituted pee than absolutely necessary.
She had no doubts she’d be found before food became a problem. An orbital satellite survey would spot Rolas’ sailboat easily. A drone would be dispatched to confirm the presence of survivors, and then a pick up would come shortly afterward. Now if she could just find a reason why anyone would bother, after she had killed her husband.
Melanie’s stomach growled, and she became aware of a deep hunger inside her. She rubbed her belly gently, feeling the bruises the hastily secured safety belt has left under her fur. As tempting as it was to roll over and join Rolas in the Mother Goddess’s peaceful green fields, she had to survive, if not for her sake then the sake of others. So she pushed herself to her feet, pulled out a sandwich from a waterproof plastic pouch, and ate it without enthusiasm. She chased it down with a can of tea, and then clumped back onto the top deck, sliding downward until her back rested against the cabin’s rear bulkhead, watching the sun drop into the sea, painting the waters red.
Well, mostly red. There was a small speck of yellow bobbing in surf, approaching the island. Some bit of debris from the storm, following the Windskimmer by some trick of the current.
Melanie’s deep fatigue suddenly vanished as the bobbing yellow speck came closer, resolving itself into the body of a foxen, his wet, dark brown pelt plastered to his body, face looking emptily upward into the sky. Letting out a hoarse scream, she scrambled to get up, footpads sliding out from underneath her, dropping her to her knees with a crack that rammed her hips painfully into their sockets. She got up again, sliding on her knees across the deck to grab the aft railing and fling herself over it, falling into the surf licking at the rear of the pontoons.
She swam into the surf, feeling the water soaking her fur once again, wishing she’d remembered to grab her discarded lifejacket before going into the surprisingly chilly water. She kicked her feet, windmilling her arms like a madvixen. Swimming deeper into the water, she felt the clinging fatigue start to leach her strength once again as the brief adrenaline rush began to fade. A wave crashed over her head, and she emerging from it sputtering, ears flicking water away rapidly.
Melanie looked around, searching for the bright yellow jacket. It was off to her left, not five meters away, still bobbing in the waves. She kicked towards it, tried to call out Rolas’ name, getting a mouth full of salty water for her troubles. Another wave crashed over her head, and for a terrifying moment she was completely submerged, losing all sense of direction as she was tossed about, until she pulled her arms and legs together and bobbed back up to the surface like a child’s inflatable ball in a pool. Then her head was above water once again and the lifejacket was less than a meter away.
She flung out her arm, catching the straps of the life vest in her fingers. The vest’s intelligent survival system was designed to wrap itself around a victim, even if they were unconscious. Some fortuitous random wave must have sent it against Rolas’ unconscious body when he’d been tossed from the deck in the storm, attaching itself like a friendly leech and keeping his head and snout above the raging sea.
She wrapped her other arm around the vest and Rolas’ body, kicking back towards the shore, backstroking to keep both their heads above the water, shouting his name whenever she could spare the breath. Rolas, still unconscious, didn’t respond. Then sand and shells were scraping her back, and they were both driven onto the shore by the surf. With the last of her strength Melanie pulled Rolas by his vest up the shore, a good four meters from the smooth sand of the tide line. Then she fell to her knees beside him, shivering, weeping, salt sore throat croaking Rolas’ name again before pressing her fingers to his throat, feeling for his pulse.
It was there, weak and slow but it was there. Shuddering with relief, Melanie called out thanks to the Mother Goddess, tears blinding her once again. She hugged Rolas tightly to her, the salt water still soaking his fur and hers.
I’ve got to get him warm, she realized. As cold as he was, Rolas should be shivering violently; The Mother Goddess knew she was. If he was going hypothermic from his time in the sea she had to take care of that first. The lifejackets had an internal heating system that would keep their wearer warm, but the chemical reaction that would have been activated by the jacket being doused in the water must have run out after hours in the ocean.
Melanie looked despairingly at the boat from twenty meters up the shore from where she and Rolas had finally landed. The climate controlled cabin would be the best place for him, but the idea of dragging him that far and hefting his considerable weight over the lip of the deck was laughable in her fatigued state. So instead she jogged back to the sailboat, grabbing the first aid kit and as many blankets as she could hold. Then she ran back, laying out one blanket, rolling his body onto it. Next she popped open the first aid kit, pressing a syringe of anti-shock meds to his neck. After taping a heat pack from the kit to his abdomen, Melanie curled tightly against him, pulled the remaining blankets over them both.
In perhaps five minutes Rolas began shivering, teeth chattering so hard she feared he might break a fang. After another minute his body body settled down again, his breathing deepening, his pulse growing stronger by the readouts from the first aid kit. After taking data from the sensors she’d taped to his skin to the kit's built in data tablet, Melanie eased her grip on him. She stroked his head gently, fingers probing the back of his head, which felt disturbingly soft as she traced the outline of a large goose egg. Rolas moaned, eyes fluttering, and Melanie rising to her knees, stared into his bloodshot amber eyes as he finally looked up at her.
“Rolas…. Rolas… are you alright?” she asked, voice high and desperate. Please let him be alright. Please Mother Goddess let him be alright.
The corners of his salt cracked lips turned up into a brief smile. “A horrible headache,” he rasped, “but I’ll recover, I think.” The smile faded, replaced by a look of puzzlement.“What happened exactly?”
“I was trying to get a life vest to you when a wave came up. You lost your grip on the mast,” Melanie said. “You got tossed across the deck and must have taken a great whack to the back of your head. You were unconscious when the next wave came and tossed you over the side.” She shuddered, chest heaving as she started to sob in relief. “Oh, Rolas. I thought I’d lost you. I thought I had lost you....” She buried her face into his damp chest fur, sobbing as now his paw rose up to stroke her head.
“There now. There now,’ he murmured gently. “No need to cry, milady.”
“‘Milady?’” she half-laughed, half-sobbed into his chest. “Don’t go formal on me now of all times, Rolas.” She raised her head back up to look into his eyes, her brief moment of amusement disappearing as Melanie saw the expression of apology in his face. “Rolas?”
“I’m sorry,” he said politely, “but I’m not quite sure what else to call you right now.”
“What?” Melanie said flatly, her stomach lurching, as if they were still in the terrible, cold sea.
Rolas looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I really don’t know who you are.”
* * *
For a few seconds Melanie could only sputter. Then she slapped her palm down on his shoulder, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from Rolas as she shouted, “That’s not funny! I thought you were dead!”
Rolas winced and cried out, “Ow! Milady, please!”
Oh, Mother Goddess, maybe he really wasn’t joking. “Rolas,” she said carefully, willing herself to be calm. “What’s the last you remember?”
“Er....” Rolas furrowed his brow, eyes narrowing in sudden pain. “I was sailing…. with you… I suppose.”
“And?” Melanie prompted.
“Storm must have come up…” He hissed softly in frustration. “It… it doesn’t make sense though. Windskimmer is my boat. I don’t bring people on it. Who are you anyway?”
“Rolas, look at your right wrist. Then look at mine,” she said.
He raised his arm, looking like it hurt to focus his eyes as he examined the silver and gold commitment band around his right wrist, the intricate inlay design identical to the one around her own. It had stayed firmly on his arm even as the storm had thrown him from the Windskimmer, the lock holding it in place. The key to it was sitting in her jewelry case back at the manor, as he held the one to hers. His gaze went from his band to hers, noted the matching designs. Then Rolas let out a surprised “Huh!” and let his arm drop down.
“I’m Melanie, your wife,” she said. She worried a fang with her tongue briefly, feeling her stomach churn again. “You really don’t remember?”
“I believe you, I think. I don’t have any reason not to.” Rolas looked at her again, without any sign of recognition. “How did we meet anyway?”
“Um…” Now, she quickly realized, was not the time to start explaining that entirely too complicated story. “Look, we can worry about that later. I’m sure…. I’m sure everything will come back to you soon. For now we need to get you back to your sailboat and check you over, all right? The com system is out, but I’m sure someone will be looking for us soon.”
Rolas nodded carefully. With Melanie helping he was able to get to his feet, and she kept him steady for the brief walk back to the Windskimmer. Getting him back aboard was more difficult, requiring her to clamber back into the boat and then pulling for dear life until Rolas was able to swing a leg over the edge. Then she was able to help him down into the cabin’s tiny shower cubicle to scrub the salt from his fur and the blood seeping from his cuts.
After perhaps twenty minutes Rolas was cleaned, dried, dressed in fresh shorts, and sitting up very patient-like on the bed. From his nest of pillows and blankets he watched her as Melanie consulted the first aid kit’s database on head wounds. There wasn’t much there aside from tips on stopping bleeding and a strong recommendation to call Emergency Services immediately. On amnesia there wasn’t a blessed thing. I have to get him to a hospital soon, Melanie thought with worry. The lump on the back of his head was substantial, and she didn’t like the idea of it remaining untended.
Almost as upsetting was the way Rolas looked at her with passive curiosity. Occasionally he glanced at the band around his wrist and then to hers, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was married. But mostly he was silent, aside from thanking her politely as she pressed a cup of fresh water on him to drink to make up for the salt he’d been swallowing. It was so entirely different from the passionate, sometimes frustrating, husband she knew that it was almost frightening.
“Alright,” she said cautiously, “you’ve taken a pretty big blow to the head, so I want you to take it easy. I’ll take care of everything for you, alright?” She sat on the bunk opposite his, the fear induced adrenaline rush she’d been operating on since spotting his body floating in the water completely dissipated, and a deep lassitude ran through her, making her feel as if the planet’s gravity had suddenly doubled.
“Alright,” Rolas agreed, his curious but passive expression not changing. Melanie felt the ruff on the back of her neck rise up. He wasn’t arguing with her. Not insisting that he could take care of himself. Not shaking off any attempts to help him. She actually let off a brief mental prayer of thanks to the Mother Goddess when he finally asked, “How long have we been at sea?”
“About three days,” she replied. Melanie then gave him the coordinates to the island they were beached on, which made Rolas frown.
“That’s in the middle of the Western Continent,” he noted.
Melanie blinked, and then realized the source of his confusion. “On Foxen Prime it would be. We’re on Greenholme.” After Rolas failed to respond, she added, “Greenholme is the colony world your family owns.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “Colony world?” he repeated. “Is House Darktail now part of the Ten Countesses?”
“No, but…” Melanie pinched her snout, squinting as she considered the emotional mine field Rolas’ question raised. “It’s… very complicated. Once you’re better I’ll explain everything to you. For now our most important consideration is getting you proper medical attention.”
“If you say so, milady,” he agreed, not choosing to argue the point. “How far away is the nearest port?”
“About five hundred kilometers I think,” she said. “And it’s not really a port; it’s a research station with a dock. The only proper hospital available is at the capitol in the middle of the interior.
For the first time since she’d rescued him from the surf, a blessedly irritated expression crossed Rolas’ face. “So why did you beach us instead of heading in that direction?” he demanded
“I didn’t have any choice,” Melanie said, grateful for this brief moment of querulousness from him. “I don’t know anything about sailing, so I set the boat’s computer to head towards the nearest piece of land to get out of the storm.”
“Have you called for help?” he asked.
“The antenna got torn off the mast in the storm,” Melanie told him. “We can receive nav data from the planetary GPS system, but that’s about it.”
He grunted. “Coast Patrol will find us after a bit.”
“Greenholme isn’t big enough to support a Coast Patrol. Though eventually Salli will have to start wondering what happened to us and order a satellite search,” she replied clasping her paws in front of her. “Now has anything else come back to you?”
“No. I’m sorry, milady.” Rolas replied. A quick verbal quiz while she’d been helping shower had determined that he could remember his own name, date of birth, and the names of Salli and his parents. But Melanie’s own identity had remained a blank for him.
“What’s the last thing you have a clear memory of?” she asked.
“Um…” Rolas rubbed the side of his head in frustration, his face turning down into a frown. “I was arguing with… someone… Red pelt. Always in good shape. I know his face. I do know it.” He bit his lip, then his face lit up in comprehension. “Dak! Dak Cannonloader! I was arguing with him, I remember that now.”
Melanie felt some her tension ease. “Yes, that’s right. He visited us, a couple of days before we set sail. I wouldn’t call our conversation an argument though.”
Rolas’ brief expression of triumph faded. “At the dock? No, this was aboard the cruiser we were assigned to. Jen was there too…” His face turned stricken.
“Who is Jen?” Melanie prompted.
“Jen was… a friend. Like Dak.” He tugged at the commitment band around his wrist again. “That’s why this thing was such a surprise. I figured if I was going to marry anyone it was going to be Jen and Dack.”
She blinked in surprise. “Jen and Dack…?”
“Well, yes. I know it’s unusual among Nobles, but not unprecedented.” Rolas’ frown deepened. “I… why I can remember this when I can’t…” He pressed his paws to his temples, looking like he was in deep pain. “It was…. last week of my Service tour. Yes. Jeneia and Dakarius were both Military caste. Once I’d finished my mandatory three years, I’d likely never see them again. So I asked them, both of them, if they’d stay with me.”
“But that was just recreation, with no commitment implied or desired,” Rolas, you are such an utter, complete, pathetic liar. Knowing that the next part was going to hurt, she asked, “What did they say to you?”
Her husband’s expression was bleak. “Jen loved me. I loved her. Dack loved me. I loved him. The problem was that they didn’t love each other. Which they told me together, when I was too thickheaded to believe their individual answers. I... didn’t want to accept that. Couldn’t. I argued with them. Pleaded. Shouted.” Rolas rubbed his palm pads against his eyes. “I was such an ass.”
Melanie could just see it, poor Rolas, all of twenty-two or twenty-three, if he was doing his mandatory three years of Service, with all the young anxiety normally felt by somewhat that age. Never mind his deeper sense of inferiority when it came to competing with his sister’s accomplishments. He opened his heart to them, she realized, and they both stomped on it. My soul hurts.
“You weren’t an ass, Rolas,” she reassured him.
“You weren’t there,” he replied, somewhat grumpily. Somehow his annoyed tone was reassuring.
“Speaking of…” She caught herself before she continued with, “...asses.” Instead Melanie restarted with, “Not to change the subject, but I was curious about something. What’s your opinion of the Highgliders?”
Rolas’ brow furrowed, and he winced again in pain. “The Countess? She’s a decent enough sort I suppose. Very much High Noble caste. Bit stuffy and concerned with the proper forms, but we’ve never had any argument with her.”
“And her son, Kevinaugh?” she prompted.
“He’s alright,” Rolas said with a shrug. “Bit odd to be a Countess’ Heir and not married yet, but I’m sure he’ll snag some lucky vixen soon.”
Well, if she’d wanted proof that Rolas’ condition was real, and not some bizarre practical joke, she had it now. It would have taken considerable acting talent indeed for him to speak of the Highgliders like this. Not without going into a snarling rage over the hurts that had been inflicted upon his sister and the rest of his family.
“I see. I’m sure he’ll find someone someday,” she said carefully.
“Quite,” Rolas said. “Your turn. Since I don’t know anything about you,” he gestured to the commitment band around his wrist, “and we seem to be quite close, I’m going to have learn the story from you. How did we meet? What are you like? Why would I take you on my boat?”
“How did we meet?” Melanie repeated, trying to get her thoughts, her lies, in order. She didn’t think Rolas was going to react very well to the explanation Well, I captured you and held you for ransom when my pirate ship took your freighter. She’d have to shade her facts carefully.
Actually… she could shade a lot of facts, if she were careful. Not lies necessarily, because eventually, she hoped, Rolas would get his memories back. But just put better a spin on things. I captured your ship and held you ransom. But I was never really was going to hold onto you. You forgave me, remember? I helped your family when you desperately needed it. Gave you money, got help for Salli, drove old Highglider over the edge so she lost it in front of the Council. You understand that I had to do some awful things, like holding onto Ali instead of getting her the help she needed, but you forgave me. We’ve never really doubted each other. Not ever.
Melanie smiled at Rolas as he waited for her to start talking, his face not holding an ounce of his usual wariness, or anger. Completely open to whatever she said next, whatever truth she wanted to spin from all the grey facts between them.
Then she felt her stomach churn in a manner that had nothing to do with her current condition, and she broke away from his gaze, staring into her lap.
“Melanie,” Rolas asked, his voice edged with concern, “are you alright?”
“No,” she replied, raising her face to meet his again. “Nothing is alright. We were out at sea, on your boat, because you wanted answers from me about my old life. Things were falling to pieces between us, and you were so desperate to fix things that you were willing to take me to your most private place, so we’d have time alone together.”
“What was... is... the matter?” he asked.
Melanie rubbed her muzzle, briefly. “I’m a criminal, Rolas. By all rights I should be sitting in a prison cell or indentured for the rest of my life for the crimes I committed. But because I did your family a good turn you forgave me. Married me. Gave me more love than perhaps I deserved.”
Rolas frowned, looking like his head was starting to hurt worse. “I don’t understand. So do I hate you or not?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Certainly I’ve complicated your life. You know my secret, and so does Salli. So does the Ten, but they’re willing to let it slide because they have a hold over me, with that knowledge. But I can’t undo the crimes I’ve done, and the hurts I’ve inflicted. That knowledge of my crimes was eating at you, destroying the love between us, and I can’t say that you’re wrong to distrust me.”
“There now, there now,” he said softly, as her eyes began to blur with tears. “Don’t cry. I’m sure we’ll work everything out.” He reached out to brush his paw over her face, his fingers accidentally pressing against the bruise around her eye. While the swelling had gone down with the help of the first aid kit, it was still quite tender. She let out a brief squeak of pain, turning her head away.
“You’re hurt!” Rolas exclaimed softly.
“That’s nothing,” Melanie tried to reassure him. “I got, um, knocked about.”
“In the storm?” he pressed.
“A bit before,” she said, her voice turning sharper than Melanie had intended. “It’s really not important right now.”
“How did you get…?” Rolas started to ask, his voice trailing off. He looked down at his paws, his right drawing into a fist, finger pads of his left hand trailing along the latter’s knuckles. “I… we were arguing about… something… I remember that.”
Oh, Mother Goddess no, not right now. “It’s not important, Rolas,” she repeated.
“We were arguing about… Salli…” he said slowly. “I was so very angry....” Rolas’ ears turned back on his head and his jaw dropped open in complete horror. “I hit you!”
“Because I provoked you,” she said quickly. “Very deliberately provoked you. You were turned over in knots about it though. That discussion is over.”
“What were we arguing about so badly that I’d punch a vixen?” he demanded. “What did you say about my sister?”
“I said...” Melanie cleared her throat uncomfortably. “It’s not important. You were angry, I was being deliberately provocative, and things got out of hand. We both apologized. It’s over and done.”
“Done…?” he repeated. His expression of horror dropped abruptly from his face, growing much more closed off.
“Rolas?” she asked.
“I need… I need to think…” he said softly. “I’m very tired. We both should sleep.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Things will be better in the morning.”
She hoped and prayed.
* * *
Exhaustion overcame her grief and fear, and eventually Melanie fell asleep, rocking in the bunk like a cub in the Mother Goddess’ arms. That meant when the Windskimmer slammed itself onto the beach of the island she’d been aiming for, she was thrown out of bed and onto the cabin’s deck, still wet from water sloshed into it from the storm. Sputtering and cursing, Melanie got unsteadily to her feet, hauling herself topside.
The sailboat had beached itself on a wide, sandy shore, a nasty grinding sound coming aft as the propellers dug themselves into the white sand. Melanie slapped the shutdown button the console, stopping the motors and the awful sound. Above her head, the sail snapped in the wind, now reduced to much more sensible five kilometers an hour, while the rain had abated to a steady drizzle. In front of the bow, some ten meters up the beach, stood a thick forest of trees with fan shaped leaves.
Going by the computer map, the island was perhaps three kilometers long and two wide, rising to an elevation of fifty meters at its highest point. A notation in the system didn’t even give it a name, just a numeric navigation designation and a note with its place on the list of places requiring ground exploration.
Melanie shook herself, flinging wet, salty droplets from her fur. Then she headed up to the bow, releasing the anchor winch and hauling both anchor and chain up the beach, until she could wrap the chain around the thickest tree she could find and jamming the anchor into the sandy ground, securing the boat firmly. By the time she had finished and made her way back to the Windskimmer, the storm had ended, the wind and rain dying down completely.
She hauled herself back up onto the boat, her gait ironically unsteady and swaying now that the deck was still. Plopping herself down on the bench, Melanie considered her options. A sailboat carrying the Governor General’s brother and sister-in-law disappears in a storm, she thought. They’ll be searching for us. But how soon?
They had only been three days into their fortnight trip, with no specific destination planned. She hadn’t seen Rolas checking in with anyone on the com the entire time they’d been out. Would the search be delayed until the week was up? Longer even? She mentally added another two days to allow for worry to build up in Salli’s mind. Then she added another week to allow for Rolas’ youthful habit of remaining at sea for a month or more at a time. Then she started thinking about Rolas’ body sinking beneath raging waves and began sobbing again.
When she’d regained control once more, Melanie forced herself to get up and take inventory of the galley. The power was still on, so the freezer was still good. The battery embedded in the hull, assuming it hadn’t been damaged when the boat had beached, would be good for a month even with the props running flat out. Between the freezer and the pantry’s contents, she could eat heartily for about a month, longer if she rationed things. Water came from the boat’s distillation plant, and it would be essentially unlimited if she could find a hose and run it out into the surf, having no wish to consume anymore of her own reconstituted pee than absolutely necessary.
She had no doubts she’d be found before food became a problem. An orbital satellite survey would spot Rolas’ sailboat easily. A drone would be dispatched to confirm the presence of survivors, and then a pick up would come shortly afterward. Now if she could just find a reason why anyone would bother, after she had killed her husband.
Melanie’s stomach growled, and she became aware of a deep hunger inside her. She rubbed her belly gently, feeling the bruises the hastily secured safety belt has left under her fur. As tempting as it was to roll over and join Rolas in the Mother Goddess’s peaceful green fields, she had to survive, if not for her sake then the sake of others. So she pushed herself to her feet, pulled out a sandwich from a waterproof plastic pouch, and ate it without enthusiasm. She chased it down with a can of tea, and then clumped back onto the top deck, sliding downward until her back rested against the cabin’s rear bulkhead, watching the sun drop into the sea, painting the waters red.
Well, mostly red. There was a small speck of yellow bobbing in surf, approaching the island. Some bit of debris from the storm, following the Windskimmer by some trick of the current.
Melanie’s deep fatigue suddenly vanished as the bobbing yellow speck came closer, resolving itself into the body of a foxen, his wet, dark brown pelt plastered to his body, face looking emptily upward into the sky. Letting out a hoarse scream, she scrambled to get up, footpads sliding out from underneath her, dropping her to her knees with a crack that rammed her hips painfully into their sockets. She got up again, sliding on her knees across the deck to grab the aft railing and fling herself over it, falling into the surf licking at the rear of the pontoons.
She swam into the surf, feeling the water soaking her fur once again, wishing she’d remembered to grab her discarded lifejacket before going into the surprisingly chilly water. She kicked her feet, windmilling her arms like a madvixen. Swimming deeper into the water, she felt the clinging fatigue start to leach her strength once again as the brief adrenaline rush began to fade. A wave crashed over her head, and she emerging from it sputtering, ears flicking water away rapidly.
Melanie looked around, searching for the bright yellow jacket. It was off to her left, not five meters away, still bobbing in the waves. She kicked towards it, tried to call out Rolas’ name, getting a mouth full of salty water for her troubles. Another wave crashed over her head, and for a terrifying moment she was completely submerged, losing all sense of direction as she was tossed about, until she pulled her arms and legs together and bobbed back up to the surface like a child’s inflatable ball in a pool. Then her head was above water once again and the lifejacket was less than a meter away.
She flung out her arm, catching the straps of the life vest in her fingers. The vest’s intelligent survival system was designed to wrap itself around a victim, even if they were unconscious. Some fortuitous random wave must have sent it against Rolas’ unconscious body when he’d been tossed from the deck in the storm, attaching itself like a friendly leech and keeping his head and snout above the raging sea.
She wrapped her other arm around the vest and Rolas’ body, kicking back towards the shore, backstroking to keep both their heads above the water, shouting his name whenever she could spare the breath. Rolas, still unconscious, didn’t respond. Then sand and shells were scraping her back, and they were both driven onto the shore by the surf. With the last of her strength Melanie pulled Rolas by his vest up the shore, a good four meters from the smooth sand of the tide line. Then she fell to her knees beside him, shivering, weeping, salt sore throat croaking Rolas’ name again before pressing her fingers to his throat, feeling for his pulse.
It was there, weak and slow but it was there. Shuddering with relief, Melanie called out thanks to the Mother Goddess, tears blinding her once again. She hugged Rolas tightly to her, the salt water still soaking his fur and hers.
I’ve got to get him warm, she realized. As cold as he was, Rolas should be shivering violently; The Mother Goddess knew she was. If he was going hypothermic from his time in the sea she had to take care of that first. The lifejackets had an internal heating system that would keep their wearer warm, but the chemical reaction that would have been activated by the jacket being doused in the water must have run out after hours in the ocean.
Melanie looked despairingly at the boat from twenty meters up the shore from where she and Rolas had finally landed. The climate controlled cabin would be the best place for him, but the idea of dragging him that far and hefting his considerable weight over the lip of the deck was laughable in her fatigued state. So instead she jogged back to the sailboat, grabbing the first aid kit and as many blankets as she could hold. Then she ran back, laying out one blanket, rolling his body onto it. Next she popped open the first aid kit, pressing a syringe of anti-shock meds to his neck. After taping a heat pack from the kit to his abdomen, Melanie curled tightly against him, pulled the remaining blankets over them both.
In perhaps five minutes Rolas began shivering, teeth chattering so hard she feared he might break a fang. After another minute his body body settled down again, his breathing deepening, his pulse growing stronger by the readouts from the first aid kit. After taking data from the sensors she’d taped to his skin to the kit's built in data tablet, Melanie eased her grip on him. She stroked his head gently, fingers probing the back of his head, which felt disturbingly soft as she traced the outline of a large goose egg. Rolas moaned, eyes fluttering, and Melanie rising to her knees, stared into his bloodshot amber eyes as he finally looked up at her.
“Rolas…. Rolas… are you alright?” she asked, voice high and desperate. Please let him be alright. Please Mother Goddess let him be alright.
The corners of his salt cracked lips turned up into a brief smile. “A horrible headache,” he rasped, “but I’ll recover, I think.” The smile faded, replaced by a look of puzzlement.“What happened exactly?”
“I was trying to get a life vest to you when a wave came up. You lost your grip on the mast,” Melanie said. “You got tossed across the deck and must have taken a great whack to the back of your head. You were unconscious when the next wave came and tossed you over the side.” She shuddered, chest heaving as she started to sob in relief. “Oh, Rolas. I thought I’d lost you. I thought I had lost you....” She buried her face into his damp chest fur, sobbing as now his paw rose up to stroke her head.
“There now. There now,’ he murmured gently. “No need to cry, milady.”
“‘Milady?’” she half-laughed, half-sobbed into his chest. “Don’t go formal on me now of all times, Rolas.” She raised her head back up to look into his eyes, her brief moment of amusement disappearing as Melanie saw the expression of apology in his face. “Rolas?”
“I’m sorry,” he said politely, “but I’m not quite sure what else to call you right now.”
“What?” Melanie said flatly, her stomach lurching, as if they were still in the terrible, cold sea.
Rolas looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I really don’t know who you are.”
* * *
For a few seconds Melanie could only sputter. Then she slapped her palm down on his shoulder, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from Rolas as she shouted, “That’s not funny! I thought you were dead!”
Rolas winced and cried out, “Ow! Milady, please!”
Oh, Mother Goddess, maybe he really wasn’t joking. “Rolas,” she said carefully, willing herself to be calm. “What’s the last you remember?”
“Er....” Rolas furrowed his brow, eyes narrowing in sudden pain. “I was sailing…. with you… I suppose.”
“And?” Melanie prompted.
“Storm must have come up…” He hissed softly in frustration. “It… it doesn’t make sense though. Windskimmer is my boat. I don’t bring people on it. Who are you anyway?”
“Rolas, look at your right wrist. Then look at mine,” she said.
He raised his arm, looking like it hurt to focus his eyes as he examined the silver and gold commitment band around his right wrist, the intricate inlay design identical to the one around her own. It had stayed firmly on his arm even as the storm had thrown him from the Windskimmer, the lock holding it in place. The key to it was sitting in her jewelry case back at the manor, as he held the one to hers. His gaze went from his band to hers, noted the matching designs. Then Rolas let out a surprised “Huh!” and let his arm drop down.
“I’m Melanie, your wife,” she said. She worried a fang with her tongue briefly, feeling her stomach churn again. “You really don’t remember?”
“I believe you, I think. I don’t have any reason not to.” Rolas looked at her again, without any sign of recognition. “How did we meet anyway?”
“Um…” Now, she quickly realized, was not the time to start explaining that entirely too complicated story. “Look, we can worry about that later. I’m sure…. I’m sure everything will come back to you soon. For now we need to get you back to your sailboat and check you over, all right? The com system is out, but I’m sure someone will be looking for us soon.”
Rolas nodded carefully. With Melanie helping he was able to get to his feet, and she kept him steady for the brief walk back to the Windskimmer. Getting him back aboard was more difficult, requiring her to clamber back into the boat and then pulling for dear life until Rolas was able to swing a leg over the edge. Then she was able to help him down into the cabin’s tiny shower cubicle to scrub the salt from his fur and the blood seeping from his cuts.
After perhaps twenty minutes Rolas was cleaned, dried, dressed in fresh shorts, and sitting up very patient-like on the bed. From his nest of pillows and blankets he watched her as Melanie consulted the first aid kit’s database on head wounds. There wasn’t much there aside from tips on stopping bleeding and a strong recommendation to call Emergency Services immediately. On amnesia there wasn’t a blessed thing. I have to get him to a hospital soon, Melanie thought with worry. The lump on the back of his head was substantial, and she didn’t like the idea of it remaining untended.
Almost as upsetting was the way Rolas looked at her with passive curiosity. Occasionally he glanced at the band around his wrist and then to hers, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was married. But mostly he was silent, aside from thanking her politely as she pressed a cup of fresh water on him to drink to make up for the salt he’d been swallowing. It was so entirely different from the passionate, sometimes frustrating, husband she knew that it was almost frightening.
“Alright,” she said cautiously, “you’ve taken a pretty big blow to the head, so I want you to take it easy. I’ll take care of everything for you, alright?” She sat on the bunk opposite his, the fear induced adrenaline rush she’d been operating on since spotting his body floating in the water completely dissipated, and a deep lassitude ran through her, making her feel as if the planet’s gravity had suddenly doubled.
“Alright,” Rolas agreed, his curious but passive expression not changing. Melanie felt the ruff on the back of her neck rise up. He wasn’t arguing with her. Not insisting that he could take care of himself. Not shaking off any attempts to help him. She actually let off a brief mental prayer of thanks to the Mother Goddess when he finally asked, “How long have we been at sea?”
“About three days,” she replied. Melanie then gave him the coordinates to the island they were beached on, which made Rolas frown.
“That’s in the middle of the Western Continent,” he noted.
Melanie blinked, and then realized the source of his confusion. “On Foxen Prime it would be. We’re on Greenholme.” After Rolas failed to respond, she added, “Greenholme is the colony world your family owns.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “Colony world?” he repeated. “Is House Darktail now part of the Ten Countesses?”
“No, but…” Melanie pinched her snout, squinting as she considered the emotional mine field Rolas’ question raised. “It’s… very complicated. Once you’re better I’ll explain everything to you. For now our most important consideration is getting you proper medical attention.”
“If you say so, milady,” he agreed, not choosing to argue the point. “How far away is the nearest port?”
“About five hundred kilometers I think,” she said. “And it’s not really a port; it’s a research station with a dock. The only proper hospital available is at the capitol in the middle of the interior.
For the first time since she’d rescued him from the surf, a blessedly irritated expression crossed Rolas’ face. “So why did you beach us instead of heading in that direction?” he demanded
“I didn’t have any choice,” Melanie said, grateful for this brief moment of querulousness from him. “I don’t know anything about sailing, so I set the boat’s computer to head towards the nearest piece of land to get out of the storm.”
“Have you called for help?” he asked.
“The antenna got torn off the mast in the storm,” Melanie told him. “We can receive nav data from the planetary GPS system, but that’s about it.”
He grunted. “Coast Patrol will find us after a bit.”
“Greenholme isn’t big enough to support a Coast Patrol. Though eventually Salli will have to start wondering what happened to us and order a satellite search,” she replied clasping her paws in front of her. “Now has anything else come back to you?”
“No. I’m sorry, milady.” Rolas replied. A quick verbal quiz while she’d been helping shower had determined that he could remember his own name, date of birth, and the names of Salli and his parents. But Melanie’s own identity had remained a blank for him.
“What’s the last thing you have a clear memory of?” she asked.
“Um…” Rolas rubbed the side of his head in frustration, his face turning down into a frown. “I was arguing with… someone… Red pelt. Always in good shape. I know his face. I do know it.” He bit his lip, then his face lit up in comprehension. “Dak! Dak Cannonloader! I was arguing with him, I remember that now.”
Melanie felt some her tension ease. “Yes, that’s right. He visited us, a couple of days before we set sail. I wouldn’t call our conversation an argument though.”
Rolas’ brief expression of triumph faded. “At the dock? No, this was aboard the cruiser we were assigned to. Jen was there too…” His face turned stricken.
“Who is Jen?” Melanie prompted.
“Jen was… a friend. Like Dak.” He tugged at the commitment band around his wrist again. “That’s why this thing was such a surprise. I figured if I was going to marry anyone it was going to be Jen and Dack.”
She blinked in surprise. “Jen and Dack…?”
“Well, yes. I know it’s unusual among Nobles, but not unprecedented.” Rolas’ frown deepened. “I… why I can remember this when I can’t…” He pressed his paws to his temples, looking like he was in deep pain. “It was…. last week of my Service tour. Yes. Jeneia and Dakarius were both Military caste. Once I’d finished my mandatory three years, I’d likely never see them again. So I asked them, both of them, if they’d stay with me.”
“But that was just recreation, with no commitment implied or desired,” Rolas, you are such an utter, complete, pathetic liar. Knowing that the next part was going to hurt, she asked, “What did they say to you?”
Her husband’s expression was bleak. “Jen loved me. I loved her. Dack loved me. I loved him. The problem was that they didn’t love each other. Which they told me together, when I was too thickheaded to believe their individual answers. I... didn’t want to accept that. Couldn’t. I argued with them. Pleaded. Shouted.” Rolas rubbed his palm pads against his eyes. “I was such an ass.”
Melanie could just see it, poor Rolas, all of twenty-two or twenty-three, if he was doing his mandatory three years of Service, with all the young anxiety normally felt by somewhat that age. Never mind his deeper sense of inferiority when it came to competing with his sister’s accomplishments. He opened his heart to them, she realized, and they both stomped on it. My soul hurts.
“You weren’t an ass, Rolas,” she reassured him.
“You weren’t there,” he replied, somewhat grumpily. Somehow his annoyed tone was reassuring.
“Speaking of…” She caught herself before she continued with, “...asses.” Instead Melanie restarted with, “Not to change the subject, but I was curious about something. What’s your opinion of the Highgliders?”
Rolas’ brow furrowed, and he winced again in pain. “The Countess? She’s a decent enough sort I suppose. Very much High Noble caste. Bit stuffy and concerned with the proper forms, but we’ve never had any argument with her.”
“And her son, Kevinaugh?” she prompted.
“He’s alright,” Rolas said with a shrug. “Bit odd to be a Countess’ Heir and not married yet, but I’m sure he’ll snag some lucky vixen soon.”
Well, if she’d wanted proof that Rolas’ condition was real, and not some bizarre practical joke, she had it now. It would have taken considerable acting talent indeed for him to speak of the Highgliders like this. Not without going into a snarling rage over the hurts that had been inflicted upon his sister and the rest of his family.
“I see. I’m sure he’ll find someone someday,” she said carefully.
“Quite,” Rolas said. “Your turn. Since I don’t know anything about you,” he gestured to the commitment band around his wrist, “and we seem to be quite close, I’m going to have learn the story from you. How did we meet? What are you like? Why would I take you on my boat?”
“How did we meet?” Melanie repeated, trying to get her thoughts, her lies, in order. She didn’t think Rolas was going to react very well to the explanation Well, I captured you and held you for ransom when my pirate ship took your freighter. She’d have to shade her facts carefully.
Actually… she could shade a lot of facts, if she were careful. Not lies necessarily, because eventually, she hoped, Rolas would get his memories back. But just put better a spin on things. I captured your ship and held you ransom. But I was never really was going to hold onto you. You forgave me, remember? I helped your family when you desperately needed it. Gave you money, got help for Salli, drove old Highglider over the edge so she lost it in front of the Council. You understand that I had to do some awful things, like holding onto Ali instead of getting her the help she needed, but you forgave me. We’ve never really doubted each other. Not ever.
Melanie smiled at Rolas as he waited for her to start talking, his face not holding an ounce of his usual wariness, or anger. Completely open to whatever she said next, whatever truth she wanted to spin from all the grey facts between them.
Then she felt her stomach churn in a manner that had nothing to do with her current condition, and she broke away from his gaze, staring into her lap.
“Melanie,” Rolas asked, his voice edged with concern, “are you alright?”
“No,” she replied, raising her face to meet his again. “Nothing is alright. We were out at sea, on your boat, because you wanted answers from me about my old life. Things were falling to pieces between us, and you were so desperate to fix things that you were willing to take me to your most private place, so we’d have time alone together.”
“What was... is... the matter?” he asked.
Melanie rubbed her muzzle, briefly. “I’m a criminal, Rolas. By all rights I should be sitting in a prison cell or indentured for the rest of my life for the crimes I committed. But because I did your family a good turn you forgave me. Married me. Gave me more love than perhaps I deserved.”
Rolas frowned, looking like his head was starting to hurt worse. “I don’t understand. So do I hate you or not?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Certainly I’ve complicated your life. You know my secret, and so does Salli. So does the Ten, but they’re willing to let it slide because they have a hold over me, with that knowledge. But I can’t undo the crimes I’ve done, and the hurts I’ve inflicted. That knowledge of my crimes was eating at you, destroying the love between us, and I can’t say that you’re wrong to distrust me.”
“There now, there now,” he said softly, as her eyes began to blur with tears. “Don’t cry. I’m sure we’ll work everything out.” He reached out to brush his paw over her face, his fingers accidentally pressing against the bruise around her eye. While the swelling had gone down with the help of the first aid kit, it was still quite tender. She let out a brief squeak of pain, turning her head away.
“You’re hurt!” Rolas exclaimed softly.
“That’s nothing,” Melanie tried to reassure him. “I got, um, knocked about.”
“In the storm?” he pressed.
“A bit before,” she said, her voice turning sharper than Melanie had intended. “It’s really not important right now.”
“How did you get…?” Rolas started to ask, his voice trailing off. He looked down at his paws, his right drawing into a fist, finger pads of his left hand trailing along the latter’s knuckles. “I… we were arguing about… something… I remember that.”
Oh, Mother Goddess no, not right now. “It’s not important, Rolas,” she repeated.
“We were arguing about… Salli…” he said slowly. “I was so very angry....” Rolas’ ears turned back on his head and his jaw dropped open in complete horror. “I hit you!”
“Because I provoked you,” she said quickly. “Very deliberately provoked you. You were turned over in knots about it though. That discussion is over.”
“What were we arguing about so badly that I’d punch a vixen?” he demanded. “What did you say about my sister?”
“I said...” Melanie cleared her throat uncomfortably. “It’s not important. You were angry, I was being deliberately provocative, and things got out of hand. We both apologized. It’s over and done.”
“Done…?” he repeated. His expression of horror dropped abruptly from his face, growing much more closed off.
“Rolas?” she asked.
“I need… I need to think…” he said softly. “I’m very tired. We both should sleep.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Things will be better in the morning.”
She hoped and prayed.
