Maeve O’ Faeroe stared at the candelabra, focussing on the lighting of the
long candles. “And the light shall be set aflame,” she chanted, ending the
incantation, but she didn’t disguise the frustrated tone in her voice. The
candle stems didn’t light, only smoked rather profusely. Then a humming came
and the smoke was blown away by a slightly noisy wind, but even the wind
couldn’t cover the sound of a foot tapping. Maeve looked up at her aunt,
whose own frustration was obvious by the signs. Her aunt’s posture was
stiff, her eyes up, and her jaw twitching. She’s counting in her head, Maeve
thought guiltily. Her aunt’s aging features slowly relaxed as she reached
one hundred, and she turned sharp, green eyes to her niece. Maeve nervously
tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, one that wasn’t
even out from behind her ear. The elder witch took a step to Maeve’s desk.
Maeve smiled weakly and touched her forehead in apology.


“Smoke doesn’t count as fire, Maevelyn,” Deanna scowled. Maeve nodded
weakly.


“I know, aunt, but…when I ever touch a slight amount of my power, it
retreats away from me,” Maeve answered. Her normally fiery nature was calmed
by the fact of her defeat. Her aunt lovingly caressed her hair.


“I know, my sweet, and for what reason I know not. You’ve great power deep
within you, greater than any previous Cauchalain sorcerer, but it seems that
it’s waiting for something.” Her aunt turned away, and instantly a large
black cat curled up to her leg, brushing against her. Maeve watched her
aunt’s familiar with jealousy, and turned to her own. The large eagle eyed
her for a second from his nest in the folds of her cloak before lowering his
head.


“Lazy bugger,” she whispered hoarsely. Familiars were supposed to add
their power to them and help witches with their magick. But few animals
wished to deal with Maeve magically, so the young eagle had grudgingly given
in. Maeve snorted out loud. Her aunt turned around suddenly and pierced her
with a look. Maeve’s eyes went innocent, knowing how her aunt hated Maeve to
grumble about her familiar. Her aunt waved a hand and a case holding a large
book appeared.


“I think that you should go to a sorcerer of the East. Yes, that might do.
I’ll send your clothing there, and you can get there by yourself, with your
own magick,” Deanna decided as she handed the book to Maeve. The maiden’s
large brown eyes widened as her aunt continued to talk, “and I’ll pack ye a
few bannocks, and a bratt, and some personal assets. There, yer done!”  
Deanna turned back to her niece, and saw the look in her eyes. “Oh, wee
bairn, I love ye. And when yer done yer magick, you’ll come back and have to
celebrate Beltane with me.” Maeve hugged her aunt.


“Oh…I’ll miss ye, Deanna,” she whispered. Her aunt sniffed.


“Hush now. Seah, I’ll miss ye too.” Her aunt wiped her eyes as she pulled
away. “Now, you’re one of the most Caoilfhionn of our race, so be careful.
Become no man’s leannan, understand?” Maeve nodded and clutched her book to
her person. Her familiar stared at her aunt. Her aunt’s eyebrows rose. “Oh,
so now yer willing to go, ye bugger?” The eagle flew to the elder witch and
cocked his head. “You’ll go later.”


Maeve slowly closed her aunt and started the travel incantation,
concentrating on her memory of Basra. “Fly me quick, to the land of Basra,
faster than a candle lit!” she finished her chant. A mist surrounded her,
and the agile frame of the young witch disappeared. Her aunt dabbed at her
eyes, then looked down at the large eagle perched on the chest of clothes.


“Fire, I’m going to have to make ye something useful,” she snapped and
slowly raised her hands. The eagle’s eyes went large and he tried to get
away, flying down the stone keep. Deanna huffed and called out, “You can
run, but you can’t hide!” as she ran down after the bird.






The sun’s rays were warm and bright, nourishing the bushes the lined the
forest path. A group of horsemen, and one wagon of supplies all but crowded
the forest path. The three handsome bays and two driving horses champed on
their bits, bored with the way the trip was going. The leader, a young man
with brownish hair and blue eyes, was half turned in his saddle, talking
quietly to the moor beside him.


“I hope that this trip was worth it. Took us long enough to convince Darien
that we were sent by the Sultan,” he commented. The moor nodded, signing his
mutual agreement. A slim brunette came up beside the captain.


“Oh, come on, you two. The adventure we just had took out some of your
pent-up energy, didn’t it?” the woman asked with a grin. Sinbad shrugged.


“Bryn, for once I’d just like some relaxation. And when we get to the
beach, I intend to do that.” Sinbad heard her snicker and mock-glared at
her. But a flurry of motion caught his eyes and he looked back at Rongar.
The moor was motioning to his ear, signalling that he had heard something.
Sinbad straightened in the saddle and squeezed the gelding to a faster pace.


“Keep an eye alert,” he called back as his horse slowed back down. He looked
up and caught the sun’s rays direct in his eyes and he winced. That was the
last movement he made on the horse before he was knocked out of the saddle.


He groaned and tried to move even slightly, but felt a weight on his chest.
For a second he thought that he had pulled the horse down with him, but it
wasn’t that heavy. He sat up on his elbows and his blue eyes caught brown
eyes.


They stared back at him with equal confusion. The figure shifted so she was
still astride his waist and he was speechless. It was a girl draped in a
long, hooded cloak, and she wore a pair of leather breeches much like his
own pants. She shook her covered head, clearing the cobwebs from the fall.
Sinbad shook his own head and looked her up and down from his view.


“Who are you? And where’d you come from?” he asked as his hands fell to her
hips. She didn’t speak but tried to move, only to find her ankle under his
back. And a sword pressed to her neck.


“I got her, Sinbad,” Bryn commented, a firm grip on the sword. The girl
struggled to release her foot and shifted into only a more intimate position
with the man. She struggled against him and succeeded in catching Bryn’s
knees. Bryn staggered and the girl took off, fleeting down a path. With a
nod from Bryn, Sinbad followed, knowing these paths well. Grimly, he climbed
a tree and watched as the girl passed under him, her cloak floating around
her. Sinbad took a leap and caught her on her back. The girl cried out and
struggled hard as she hit the ground beneath him. Sinbad felt a fist catch
his stomach, fingernails scratch at him, and a well-aimed kick at his groin,
but he held on like he was riding a wild mare. When the girl finally
stopped, Sinbad wrenched her cloak from her body and stared in open
admiration. The girl was the loveliest creature he had ever seen, with flowing reddish
hair, a fair face, deep brown eyes, and an athletic build.


“Let me go!” she screamed, and pummelled him with exceedingly strong fists.
Sinbad grimaced and trapped her wrists above her head. She began to curse
him with words that would have made the worst mouthed sailor cringe. Sinbad
finally clamped a hand on her mouth, only to find her teeth biting at him.


“Damn it, woman, you’ll try everything!” he snapped at her. She finally
stayed quiet under his hand and he looked at her hard. “I’m going to remove
my hand, and if you scream, I’ll do worse than knock you unconscious,” he
threatened. The girl just looked at him as he removed his hand.


“Who are you?” he demanded. She looked away from him, only to have him grab
her chin. “Who are you?”


“Maevelyn,” she answered softly. He sat up and released her hands.


“I’m Sinbad, perhaps you’ve heard of me?” He asked curiously. She smirked.


“Nay. Lecherous, smelly sailors aren’t well known ta me,” she retorted,
giving Sinbad a chance to recognize that she was Irish. He stood up, his
face a redder shade, and helped her up. The glare she fixed him with was
deadly, and she slapped him hard. Sinbad grabbed her arm, and held her at an
arm’s length before she could run off. He reached out and ripped a strip of
cloth from her shirt and tied her hands behind her. “You stupid *@&@**!
@*#!” Maeve yelled. Sinbad shook his head and stuffed an extra piece into
her mouth.


“I’m taking you with us. For all I know you could be one of Turok’s spies,”
he snapped as he yanked her to him. Maeve’s eyes were dangerous now, and if
she hadn’t been so confused, she would have zapped him. Muttering under his
breath, the sailor led her back to his horse, only to find half the crew
smirking at him.


“You’ve always liked the fiery ones, little brother,” Doubar called out
from his perch on the wagon. Sinbad glared at him, and pushed the girl up
before him on his horse. This was going to be a most interesting trip.



Maeve watched as rows of tree passed, and despite herself, began to relax
and count the trees. She was on her hundredth when she felt the sailor’s
hands shift a bit more intimately on her. She hurriedly thought up a new
spell to loosen her bonds.


Sinbad felt the girl’s soft body relax and switched his grip. Suddenly, a
loud crack was heard and a tree crashed in front of the group. Sinbad’s
horse reared, whinnying in fear, and Maeve took that moment to slip from the
saddle. Sinbad cursed, and yanked his horse into a circle, jumping down in
order to run after her. Maeve heaved with exertion as she tried to climb up
a rocky hillside, her gagged mouth barely allowing air in. She was halfway
up when Sinbad grabbed her legs, throwing her to the ground. Maeve tumbled
down, striking her head on a rock. Sinbad gulped in the air he had lost, and
stared down at her. He checked the unconscious woman’s pulse, relieved to
find it still beating. He roughly threw her on his shoulder and started back
down the hill. Firouz and Bryn were inspecting the fallen tree, noting the
clean swipe through the trunk. They looked up at Sinbad as he approached.
Firouz tried to take the girl, but Sinbad pushed him aside. She was his
responsibility.


“Odd.” Sinbad looked up at Firouz as he set the Irishwoman in against the
trunk, her head pillowed by her bundled cloak. Firouz was looking at him
oddly.


“What?”


“Well…um…if the tree was cut down, there’s no sign of dust from a saw.”
Sinbad nodded, not doubting that Firouz was thinking something else.


“I’d say that it was magick. I can feel it crackling in the air,” Bryn
commented quietly. She turned to help Doubar with the horses. Rongar signed
a sentence to Sinbad. The captain nodded roughly.


“We should make camp for a while. This girl is in no condition to travel.
He turned back to…Maeve was it? The cloth he had pressed against the cut on
her forehead was no longer bloody. Sinbad silently studied her. The girl was
definitely attractive, certain parts of him had really noticed. She’s probably a peasant, he thought, then reconsidered. Her fingers were long, with neatly kept nails. There were some calluses, but her pale skin was extremely soft to his experimental touch. The possibilities of her being a spy were evident, but Turok had a thing against red-haired women. Sinbad was about to leave her where she lay to help Doubar when she moaned heavily. He kneeled down by her again.


Maeve felt her head aching, much like every bone in her body was. She tried
to think of a spell to take away pain, but gave up. The spell to loosen her
bonds had resulted in falling tree, for Goddess’ sake! Grimacing, she opened
her eyes, staring into a face she was beginning to hate. She turned over to
her side and coughed harshly, startled by the blood that trickled once more
into her eyes.

“Damn it, Sinbad, why didn’t you let me look at her?” a wild-haired man demanded, shoving the sailor out of the way. He gently touched her head, and Maeve was surprised that she didn’t flinch at all.


“Alright, my dear, this is going to sting quite a bit.” Maeve bit her tongue
as he applied a biting balm to her cut. “Is that better?” he asked genuinely
after he cleaned and patched up the wound.


“Yes, thank you…” she broke off.


“Oh, I’m Firouz. I’m the physician for the crew. Bryn over there is our
mage, Rongar is mute, but deadly.” He pointed out a large, rough looking
man. “That there is the first mate, Doubar. And of course, you’ve met our
captain, Sinbad.” Sinbad went to shake her hand, but Maeve ignored him. She
looked up at Firouz.


“I’m Maeve. You do more than treat the wounded, right?” she queried. His
eyes lightened up in excitement.


“Oh yes, I invent many things, such as…” he began, but Sinbad cut him off
leaning forward to help her up.


“I doubt that she wants to hear it, Firouz,” he joked. Maeve’s eyes
snapped at him as she smacked him away.


“I’ll be the judge of that. I’m not some love struck whore that you’re
probably used to,” she snapped harshly. The entire crew heard it and roared
with raucous laughter. Sinbad watched in shock as Firouz helped her up and
preceded to show her an invention he had stored in his saddlebags. How the
devil did she trust Firouz so easily? Doubar stifled his laughter as he saw
his brother’s angry scowl. Lightening strikes, he thought to himself with
amusement.



Sinbad stared at the girl from across the fire. Firouz was speaking avidly
about his concept on how the stars were formed, and Doubar was cutting her a
piece of meat off the rabbit. The entire crew seemed to forget that she was
their prisoner, not an old friend who had stopped by for a visit.


“Oh…I’m sorry, Doubar. I have to refrain from eating meat. I dislike it,”
she said apologetically to Doubar. The big man looked at her, his face
puzzled. “Oh, well. I just see it as I could be eating an animal I consider
a pet or friend. It’d be like you eating…your steed over there.” The horse
snorted and shifted uneasily. Maeve smiled at Doubar then and received his
friendly smile back. Maeve looked back at the fire and caught Sinbad’s eyes.
She shifted uncomfortably and looked up at the sky. Rongar looked over at
Sinbad, his watchful eyes catching Bryn’s approach.


The petite witch settled beside him, offering him a piece of meat casually.
He took it and broke off piece for himself. She looked over at him, and
sighed. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “What is it?” he asked
nonchalantly. She shrugged.


“You really seem to be wary of her.” She took a breath, “I believe that you
have a need to. She will not tell you more than you need to know…and neither
will I.” Sinbad finally looked at her, confused by her words.  She shrugged
and bit into the meat. Sinbad carefully stretched and cracked his neck. He
stood up and walked over to where Maeve sat.

“We should all get some sleep. It’s been a long day, for all of us,” he
announced. They bedded down quietly, Maeve feeling uncomfortable with Sinbad
standing behind her. He pulled her up beside him, and stared into her eyes
as he wrapped her wrists with rope. Maeve flinched when she saw the coldness
in his eyes and in his touch. She truly believed that someone had to have
hurt him to get such a cold look. She leaned back against the tree “I still
do not trust you to stay here, so I’m tying you up.” Maeve glared at the
back of his head as he retrieved a blanket and laid it down. He pushed her
down and settled behind her.He felt Maeve tremble as her skin came in contact with him. Gradually, the dying fire made him drowsy, but it left Maeve wide-awake.


Maeve worked the knots leisurely, knowing she could get out of these simple
knots. Her brother, Dermott, had often tied her to a chair when he wanted to
practice his broadsword without her, or when he wanted to sport with wenches
without being ratted on. She had sat tied to that damned chair for hours
before she became proficient in getting out of ropes. This sailor thought
that his rather easy knots would hold her.


Maeve smiled with satisfaction as the knots became undone, and slid off her
wrists easily. She looked over at the captain, knowing how to keep him from
catching up with her too quickly. A mischievous grin was created on Maeve’s
face as she crouched beside him.


Perhaps it was the crescent shaped moon, or the cold of the night air, but
nonetheless, Sinbad jerked awake. He shook his head and looked around. He
first saw that the horses had been cut loose and were roaming around the
perimeter, and his own was missing. He then looked down at the bedding
beside him, only to find the spot vacant and void of any redheads. He
pressed his hand down on it and felt it was warm. He jumped up, and abruptly
fell flat on his face, the rope about his ankles trapping it. He angrily
slashed it and moved to where Rongar’s gelding was watching. He grabbed the
rope about its neck and fastened a bridle. He jumped on bareback, and found
the hoof marks by the moonlight. His anger transferred to the horse and it
sprang into a speedy gallop.


Maeve trotted down the pathway, feeling a bit more relaxed now that she had
put a few miles between herself and the campsite. Her horse snuffed heavily
as he lifted a black-brown leg to place it back down in the water, and Maeve
smiled softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll care for you,” she whispered, shivering as
the cold water hit her leg. The moon seemed to be in her favour, lighting
her way along the creek. She closed her eyes and sought her familiar. The
eagle was flying south, stopping only to rest and eat as he flew towards
Basra.


Maeve was in such deep rapport with the eagle that she didn’t hear the
branches snap. Sinbad suddenly burst out of the treed side of the creek, his
horse rearing up before hers. The gelding reared up as well, and Maeve
fought to bring him control. Sinbad grabbed her reins and pull the horse
down. Maeve tried to pull the horse away, and the horse bolt at the
confusion. Maeve shrieked as she fell into the deeper end of the creek.

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