Chapter One:

The Sailor’s Rest

The day was young and rich with promise. Trees bowed in the early morning breeze, their branches heavy with last night’s rain. Beyond the protective

stand of trees, a weather-beaten building stood hunched against the skyline, as if in defiance of all the beauty surrounding it. The sign hanging high

above the door on a rusty nail proclaimed in faded letters: WELCOME TO THE SAILOR’S REST, The Finest Inn For Miles Around. In truth, it was not. There

were many inns dotting the surrounding seaside far nicer than The Sailor’s Rest, but with prices as low as they were, the inn managed to attract enough

business to stay afloat.

The innkeeper, John Avery, was a well-muscled man in his mid to late forties. His piercing azure eyes looked expectantly out at the world from under

their thick black brows. The unfortunate souls on whom John Avery chose to concentrate that blue gaze were always intimidated by it. The sheer intensity

of it was enough to make a person ill at ease, but the man’s massive height made the threat in that gaze even more apparent. His face, strongly chiseled

with a straight nose and square chin, was clean-shaven. His thick black hair, graying slightly at the temples, hung down to rest just below the tops of

his shoulders.

John’s wife died many years ago, leaving him alone with three small daughters. Those daughters were all young women now, and they worked the inn with

their father. Della, the woman who helped raise them, also worked at the inn as a housekeeper. Nobody knew what would become of his business once his

daughters married off and left him, but John Avery was a hard man with a violent temper, a love for fighting, and a talent for landing his blows with deadly

accuracy. Nobody dared ask him, nor did they dare speculate in anything above a hushed whisper and a furtive glance exchanged in passing.

Everyone said it would be a pity when Avery’s youngest daughter, Brianna, was whisked away, for it was she who cooked all the meals. Nowhere near as

curvaceous as her two sisters, Brianna’s beauty was that of a winsome child. Her knee-length hair was black and shining. Wide brown eyes looked innocently

from her heart-shaped face, and her infectious smile made each guest feel as though he or she were the most important thing in Brianna’s day.

Kandra, the second eldest, would also be missed. Her talent lay in gardening. Any time they wanted, those who stayed at The Sailor’s Rest were welcome

to walk behind the place and enjoy the fragrant array of colorful flowers planted in tidy rows. Whenever new guests would check in, Kandra could be seen

gliding to their rooms with vases of flowers for their windowsills. She was a lovely sight with her deep green eyes and perfectly oval face. Her long

fall of red hair stopped at her slender waist, and the top of her fine head was, more often than not, crowned with a delicately woven garland of pink and

white roses.

The rowdy drunks would all miss the attentions of Eve, Avery’s eldest and favorite daughter. Without her father’s knowledge, Eve sold her body from dusk

till dawn. Her breasts, large as pomegranates, always pointed skyward, straining against the material of the dresses she wore. Her blonde hair stopped

in the middle of her back, falling flat as linen about her round face and thick neck. While she was not fat by any means, Eve gave the impression of being

just the slightest bit over-filled. Once, one lady commented to another that the poor dear looked like a slender doll packed with too much stuffing.

Eve’s eyes were the same blue as her father’s, but being smaller and set slightly farther apart than one would expect, they lacked the same sharply arresting

brilliance.

Now, in the unblemished purity of early morning, all was silent, save the whispering of rain-kissed leaves, the stamping of horses, and the chirruping of

birds as they flew about greeting each other. Distantly, the sound of an approaching cart drifted on the air. It was Ryan McNair, the butcher’s son,

coming to the inn as he did every morning with meat, milk, eggs, and cheese. He whistled as he drove, stopping every now and again to give an encouraging

word to his horses. They were his friends, and Ryan valued them very highly.

“Come on then, Bobtail. That’s the ticket. You too, Ginger. Wouldn’t want to keep the lovely Miss Avery waiting, now would we?”

Ryan had been besotted with Eve Avery for as long as he could remember. They had been children together, laughing and playing through the heather,

swimming in the sea, and making sandcastles. Sometimes, they would let Eve’s little sisters play with them, but these times were rare. Eve always found

the company of Little Kandra and even littler Brianna very bothersome. Ryan liked the two well enough, but Eve was all he wanted then. Eve was still

all he wanted, and he guessed she always would be.

As the years passed, Eve played with Ryan less and less. He guessed it was because such an innocent creature would want little if anything to do with

members of the opposite sex. He knew how precious a maid’s reputation was and how it could so easily be lost. Ryan knew very little of what went on between

men and women that caused such rifts in a maid’s reputation, and for the life of him, he could not understand why whatever it was did not affect the man’s

reputation just as grievously. There were many things Ryan did not understand, and he supposed this was why everyone called him the village idiot. He

didn’t feel like an idiot. Sometimes, a thought would come to Ryan that struck him as rather smart. These thoughts always seemed to rhyme, and Ryan was

always very careful to write them down. One such thought came to him now, and Ryan pulled the cart over to the side of the road and stopped.

“Bobtail, Ginger, I had another thought,” he told his horses. The gray stallion stamped, naying softly. “Oh, I know, boy. You’re right. I must write

it down, but don’t worry. I’ll be quick about it. Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.” The mare tossed her ginger-colored mane. “Oh yes, girl. I’m

sure we’ll get to see our little friend Brianna too. Don’t you worry.”

Reaching under the seat, he pulled out a scroll, a quill, and an ivory inkwell. Unrolling the scroll and spreading it over his lap, Ryan set the inkwell

in front of him, dipped the quill and set to work. The long scroll of parchment was filled a little over halfway down its length with the rhyming thoughts

that had come to Ryan over the last three quarters of a year. Setting quill to parchment, Ryan spoke the words softly as they appeared.

“Now that dawn has touched the world,

Colored wings of light unfurled,

O’er the sleeping earth and sea,

Day has brought her close to me.

Now as gentle morning breaks,

And my love at last awakes,

I approach through sunlit glen,

For to see her face again.”

Smiling, Ryan carefully rolled the scroll, tying it with a blue ribbon and laying it back in its hiding place beneath the seat. Closing the inkwell,

he put it and the quill back with the scroll. What kind of God would see fit to give a simple boy like Ryan such lovely rhyming thoughts as these? Surely

not the angry God that the priest spoke of at church every Sunday. That god was a fearful being, made of fire and darkness.

This God, the God who made horses, sunrises, and lovely thoughts that rhymed just so, was a kindly old man with smiling dark eyes, flowing white hair

and beard, and great white wings. Ryan knew that these wings were warm and strong. So many times, when his da would fly in to a drunken rage and beat

him, or when people would throw rocks at him, Ryan would retreat in to an empty void in his mind, and there, he would find his God. Yes, Ryan McNair knew

himself to be the luckiest fellow for miles. Not only did he have a gentle and loving old God to give him lovely rhyming thoughts and two of the best

horses this side of the sea, but he also had the certainty that one day, Eve would share his name and have his children. Life was a ripe peach, and the

juice of good fortune ran freely through his fingers.

In the large white kitchen, Brianna Avery gently used a pair of wooden tongs to lay a batch of hot scones on a rack to cool. She wiped her fingers on

her apron and smiled. She had always had a talent for moving pastries from pan to wrack without dirtying her hands. This was a skill practiced and mastered

out of necessity. Every morning, Brianna would wake at the crack of dawn and bake three batches of breakfast pastries before running out to the grove

of trees to meet Ryan.

Ryan always came with the kitchen supplies, but if Brianna did not plan her morning perfectly down to the exact second of his arrival, one of her sisters

would intercept him, losing for her the chance to talk with him. Brianna lived for her brief morning talks with Ryan McNair, the broad, clumsy, red-haired

son of the butcher. He had seemed so simple at first glance, but when Brianna looked further, she saw a poetic dreamer whose soul ran deeper than the

sea. Brianna loved him with the gentle violence that only the truly innocent can. He was her sea and her sky, her earth and her heaven, her slumber’s

sanctuary and her waking dream.

She straightened her apron, ironing imaginary wrinkles from the course material. White flower clung to the girl’s black hair, and she did her best

to brush it off. Brianna was fairly certain she had not rid herself of all the flower, but it would have to do. She could hear the familiar naying of

Ryan’s two faithful horses, which meant she had no more time. Brianna flew on winged feet to the front of her father’s inn.

Her long hair, tied with a red ribbon, flew behind her, making her appear to swim through the morning air. Even in her haste, Brianna was lithe and

graceful. The exhilaration of her short run put roses in her cheeks and stars in her soulful eyes. She had only a moment to catch her breath before Ryan

stopped his cart at the stand of trees.

“Good morning to you, Miss Brianna!” Ryan called, jumping from the cart.

“Good morning, Ryan,” the girl replied, willing herself not to blush crimson. “It’s a lovely morning, don’t you think?”

“Glorious,” he agreed. “And how’s your family?”

Brianna smiled, walking to the horses with a carrot for each of them. “Well, da’s a grump, Eve is as dozy and lazy as usual, and Kandra is lovely.

How’s your da?”

Ryan appeared thoughtful. “Well, he’s Da, I suppose.”

“Drinking again?” Brianna guessed, barely keeping her feet as Ginger nuzzled her with her great head.

“Oh yes. Well, he’s a good man. He’ll stop one day. You’ll see,” Ryan assured her.

Brianna wondered if it was himself he was assuring. Sweet Ryan never spoke ill of anyone, and how she loved him for it. His voice sent shivers through

her, and Brianna knew she was not succeeding in keeping the blush that crept up her neck at bay.

“I had another thought today,” he told her.”

She brightened. “Can I see?”

“Of course you can!” he told her, returning her smile. “I always like to know what you think about them.”

He reached beneath the cart’s wooden seat and pulled out a familiar scroll. He handed it to Brianna, and for a moment, their fingers touched. How

warm he was. Carefully untying the ribbon that held the scroll, Brianna unrolled the very bottom and read Ryan’s latest poem.

“Ryan, that was beautiful!” she exclaimed, gently retying the ribbon and handing the scroll back to its owner.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he answered with a smile. “Have you ever considered writing your thoughts down, Miss Brianna?”

“Dear me, no!” The sudden flush of red made Brianna’s cheeks glow like miniature torches. To write down her thoughts would mean laying bear the secret

feelings she kept for Ryan, and such brazen proclamations of love made by a lady would be inappropriate. “My thoughts don’t rhyme like yours, and even

if they did, nobody wants to read rhymes about cooking pastries, do they?”

“Oh, now I’m sure you think about more’n that, Miss Brianna. Thoughts don’t have to rhyme to make a good story, you know. Perhaps you could write

the story of your life.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Maybe when I am an old grandmother, I’ll sit down by the fireside one night and write my story.”

“Oh I do hope you will,” Ryan said excitedly. “I just know you’ll have all sorts of grand adventures by then.”

“Grand adventures?” Brianna laughed. “I’d be happy living with my husband and children in a little cottage near a forest.”

“You want to live by a forest?” Ryan asked curiously. “But wouldn’t you miss the sea?”

“I’ve had enough of the sea, Ryan. I’ve had enough of its cold blue fury and the men it brings to our shore.” Brianna sighed. “I know it is wrong

to think such things, but sometimes, I wish the dark water would swallow them.”

Out on the ocean, one ship sailed toward a distant island. Elias Stone watched the calm water with an heir of expectant contemplation. Somehow, he

knew his purpose lay close at hand, waiting quiet as the blue-green water beneath his feet. Though not by choice, he had always been a wanderer. For

as long as he could remember, the sea had been his home, but Elias swore that someday, he would make a life for himself far away from its merciless blue

depths.

As irresistibly as the sea called most sailors,the land called to Elias. The earth was a thing of many mysteries, a vast vista of sacred sanctuaries

and intriguing adventures. Though the small speck of green up ahead looked no more remarkable than any other island at which his father’s ship took anker,

the certainty of something great awaiting Elias upon docking was almost palpable. The boy had always been given to such premonitions, and he knew better

than to dismiss them with a flourish of logic. Many were the times his father had tried to beat the strange ability out of him. When storms came, Elias

predicted them. Sickness came, and Elias did the same.

Those who worked the large cargo ship admired and respected the son of their often wreckless captain, and Elias counted himself fortunate to live among

so many trusting and reliable friends. Still, Elias knew the piece of land ahead held for him friendships more profound than any he had shared at sea.

He also knew that upon leaving this seemingly most ordinary of islands, he would never again be the same man he was at this moment, standing at the rail

of a ship he both loved and despised. Soon, the young sailor would rest. No more would the cold blue sea toss about, rithing beneath his feet as if in

pain. The world of his maturing years would loose its hold, taking with it all the suppression and security it possessed. The suppression, he would discard,

casting it from himself like the chains of a man condemned, but oh, how he would miss the security. Monotony, while suffocating to an adventurous soul

like that of Elias, was predictable. In predictability lay refuge from the pain of heartbreak, loss, defeat, and disloyalty to one’s self.

A shiver of fear and anticipation passed through his broad frame. At times he almost regretted this gift of his. How fair a thing was the universe

for giving him only scattered bits of knolege? Without them, Elias could resign himself to the monotony of another delivery of supplies to another insignificant

island. Of course, the anticipation of changes to come lifted his spirit, but at what price would joy be his? What sacrifice would fall on him to balance

the pleasure this new change would bring?

In the upstairs bedroom of a squat inn known as The Sailor’s Rest, the price for pleasure was a heart-shaped locket inlayed on one side with a mirror.

Eve Avery held the treasure in her right hand, examining her reflection in the tiny glass. Her hair was rumpled from her night’s exertion. Tired eyes

stared out of a sweat-streaked face, and the passion mark on her neck stood out red against the paleness of her skin. Shutting the locket, she let it

fall against her bare chest, suspended by a silver chain.

Dipping a cloth in to the basen before her, Eve washed her face. The warmth felt wonderful, and she let her skin absorb it greedily. From the top

of her small wooden dresser, Eve pulled an ivory hair brush, a box of red ribbons, a squat jar of scented lotion and a smaller jar of powder. Like the

locket, these were presents given to her by lonely men in exchange for the comforts only she could provide. Exactly one-hundred strokes from the pretty

brush made her hair shine in a way that pleased her, and the applications of lotion and powder made her skin as soft and supple as the day she was born.

Reopening the locket, Eve smiled. There would be no erasing the passion mark on her neck, but it was nothing a high-collared dress and a tightly-fitting

choker couldn’t fix.

Careful not to wake the man still snoring in her bed, Eve dressed by the light filtering in through her bedroom window. Finius McNair was a regular

customer and had been since the beginning of her strange but profitable night time business. He had always been gentle with her, and the presents he brought

were always of the highest quality. At times, Eve wondered how a butcher could afford such pretty things, but these times were rare. After all, who was

she to question good fortune when it chose, in both senses, to come?

Eve Avery was never given to questioning much of anything. If something good happened to her, it was because the world, like a good dog, was doing

what it knew it ought in order to bring its mistress pleasure. If something unpleasant happened, it was simply the affect of the world forgetting its

place, and Eve knew that with enough sulking, kijoling, or silent reproach, she could put it back to rights once more. Knowing the world’s uses and how

to get the most out of it was something on which Eve prided herself. Every now and then, she would look at her little sisters and wish to be as ignorantly

idiolistic as they. At these times, she wondered when the men of her dreams had ceased to be princes and begun showing themselves as the dossile, stinking

beasts she knew in her waking hours. These musings were not profitable, however, and so Eve cast them away like the wind casting the waves about in the

deep blue sea.

Across the room, the lump beneath her sheets stirred, turning from one side to the other in order to watch her while she dressed. “Good mornin’,” Finius

murmured, his voice thick with sleep. “My, but you’re a sight.”

“Why thank you, Finius,” Eve replied, smiling. The girl shuddered, feeling his eyes boring through her flesh to the skeliton beneath. “You’d best

be getting dressed now,” she told the man, gathering his clothes from about the room and bringing them to him. “I let you sleep late, and Father will

soon be expecting me.”

“Ah, now I’m sure he can wait a while,” Finius protested, letting his clothes fall on the floor beside the night table. “You don’t have to cook or

garden, do you? You don’t have to keep house, wait tables, or work behind a counter. Stay with me.”

“That’s true,” Eve said with a smile. “Still, I should go and see if anyone needs me for anything.”

“But Eve,” Finius argued, sitting up and reaching for her “I need you for somethin’!”

Skillfully, Finius held the girl with one hand while unlacing the front of her dress with the other. Eve pushed against him with all her strength,

but the man only laughed, holding her tighter to unfasten the intricate clasps of her corset. Peeling the garments from his prize like the skin off a

ripe banana, Finius McNair tossed her on the bed beside him. Eve landed on her back, scrambling quickly to a sitting position.

Ah, now,” Finius took hold of Eve’s shoulders, easily pushing her back into the mattress despite her insistance on sitting upright. His voice was soft

and crooning, but the underlying edge of mallace frightened her. “Don’t you know me better’n that, my dear? If there’s one thing I love, it’s a warm,

willing woman in my bed, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s a reluctant whore!”

Rage exploded in her brain, making small red sparks dance in her vision. “Finius, you let me go this instant or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” he asked, the cold light of amusement flashing in his brown eyes. “Will you scream, my little playmate? Will your da come rushin’ to

save his virtuous babe from this beast who would ravage her?” He laughed, the sound ringing cold and hollow in the early morning stillness. “And tell

me, what would he find? How, pray tell, would you be tellin’ him I got in to your little sanctuary?”

Eve was silent. She knew better than to scream, but short of that, there was no way out of her predicament. If her father learned of her secret life,

there would be no forgiveness for her, and just now, Finius looked angry enough to tell him everything.

“Now then,” said Finius, his voice regaining the somewhat gentle tone to which Eve was accustomed. “Let’s start over. I was askin’ you to stay with

me, and you were ever so graciously agreein’ to do just that. Am I right?”

Eve nodded numbly, sinking back into the mattress. There was nothing she could do. Finius would have his way with her, and if she did not comply,

Eve felt sure he would tell her father everything. She could only hope nobody would come this morning to wake her. “Just get this over with,” she told

him.

Smiling, Finius rolled on top of her, parting her legs with a meaty thigh. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Kandra?” At an outdoor market,, Alice Merryway put a concerned hand on her friend’s shoulder. The girl made no reply, looking with unfocused eyes

into the distance. Her hands relaxed, letting go of the basket of apples she had been carrying. “Kandra?” Alice asked again “whatever is the matter?”

“Darkness,” Kandra replied at last. Apples rolled from the fallen basket, bouncing on the ground. “Rage like pulsing fire. There is no rage like

that of the powerless. Hopelessness and helplessness are the two unendurable emotions, and Eve will ring many tears from many hearts before she is whole

again.”

Inside of her, the boy that was Alice’s true soul became defensive. How could Kandra’s oldest sister hurt anyone? Though the two had never spoken,

Eve seemed so heartbreakingly lovable. Still, Alice knew Kandra to be a loyal and honest creature who would never speak ill of her sisters. She was also

well acquainted with her friend’s ability to predict the future. Such predictions were unnerving. When she spoke of impending sorrow, Kandra’s usually

sunny voice grew dark and far-away as though she were possessed.

“Brianna’s tears will fall like rain, for silver will be worth more than gold. We are, all of us, caught in something like the sea, something that

exists between life and death. Ryan will lose a lifelong dream only to find a sweeter reality, and when the time is right, Andrew will be seen with knowing

eyes. When a blood-red moon swims across the sky, Andrew must speak, because if he does not, he will lose his heart’s desire forever.”

With those words, Kandra turned, running back in the direction of her father’s inn. Alice watched her, an expression of shock frozen on her gentle

face. How, in the name of all that was holy, did Kandra know her secret? For years, Alice had longed to be a man, believing fate had played a cruel trick

on her by decreeing that she be born female. Andrew was the name Alice called herself in the deep dark center of her mind. In that sanctuary, nobody

had the power to judge her. Nobody was there to criticize Alice for her discontent with how she had been made.

Nearby, a young man strolled hand in hand with a young girl. The girl was heavily pregnant, and the couple appeared to be deeply in love. A tear slid

down the side of Alice’s face, and she wiped it impatiently with the back of her hand. Never would she father children. Never would her hands build a

shelter for a growing family or lift the vail of a blooming young bride.

After her apprenticeship,Alice knew she would spend the rest of her days as a midwife. She would help bring babies into the world, spank life in to

them, clean them, rap them, and tenderly place them in the waiting arms of glowing mothers who would ask for their husbands, the ones who helped create

life’s miracle.

“Oh there you are, you silly girl!” Alice jumped at the all too familiar voice, turning to look in to the wrinkled face of the midwife and her superior,

Mrs. Edna Proon.

Silly child, what in Heaven’s name took you so long?” Della asked of the breathless girl running up the path to her father’s inn.

Kandra stopped, looking at the motherly housekeeper with a mixture of fondness and surprise. Dear old Della was always a joy to see on a morning such

as this, but Kandra Avery hadn’t the slightest idea how she had arrived home. The stitch in her side and the pounding of her heart told her she must have

been running, but why? Just a moment ago, Kandra had been at the market with Alice, her best friend of twelve years.

“And what’s more, Kandra dear,” Della went on “where is the fruit you were going to buy, and where is your basket?”

“I—I don’t know,” replied she, her green eyes wide with bewilderment. “Oh Della, I am sorry. I had it but a moment ago, and now it’s—gone.”

Della shook her head, clicked her tongue with disapproval, and dismissed the matter with a flurish of one chubby hand. “Probably caught up in some

daydream again,” she said with a goodnatured shrug. “You artistic types always fall victim to such flights of fancy, I’m afraid. Why Kandra, your mother

dear was just the same, God rest her soul. She was always dreaming of one thing or another.” She sighed. “Ah well. Perhaps it kept her sweetness.

So many girls like roses fade before their seventeenth summer. Dream your pretty dreams, my girl. That’s a good lamb, and take care not to end up like

that sister of yours. Eve has something the miss with her, you know. I can’t quite place my finger on it, you understand, but there is wrongness in her,

sure as I breathe.”

Kandra started, looking around her wildly. That was it! Something was the matter with Eve! She knew not how she had come by this information, but

for now, that was of no consequence. Saying a hurried goodbye to a very perplexed Della, Kandra flew through the door of her father’s inn. She let her

feet carry her, heedless of the guests’ guarded stares and whisperings.