Awakening

Maeve yawned and woke, blinking sleepily in the dim light of a single candle. She gazed mutely at the flickering flame, her mind not really thinking as she stared at its glowing dance. The soft, small bit of fire called brightly to her, a spot of hot, quick energy unlike the rolling power of the ocean outside. She reached out languidly and passed one fingertip through the flame, feeling an answering surge of power within her, a spark of the magic her spirit possessed.

Sighing, Maeve turned over and closed her eyes again. She felt tired, completely drained, and the spark of power that had lit at the candle’s touch had been pitifully small. She buried her face in the soft pillow and tried to relax her thoughts, willing her body to go to sleep again. The Powers knew she needed it—the energy she’d released before falling asleep had been incredible, and she was severely worn out from using so much of her own life-force.

And, of course, no one else aboard the Nomad knew the dangerous risk she’d taken when using so much power.

For, since none of them knew much about magic at all, they naturally knew nothing about the rules governing the use of it. The sorceress-in-training, in accordance with the level of ability she’d reached, was able to generate only as much power as was physically in her body—her life-force, as some magicians chose to put it. When there was an abundant source of fire nearby—her element—she was able to pull energy from it and not deplete her resources so fully, but there had been no fire at all involved in the battle they’d waged against the renegade sorcerer and his army. None, that is, except for the fire Maeve herself generated by hurling fireballs into the flammable material of the sorcerer’s army. And she couldn’t pull power from that, since she’d created it. So she’d been working completely off her own internal energy stores, and they’d been completely used up by the end of the fight. It had been all that she could do to drag herself back to the Nomad with the rest of the crew and collapse in an exhausted and half-dead heap on her bed before falling into a deep comatose state.

Maeve blinked again and sighed, running a hand through her tangled curls. She hadn’t the slightest idea how long ago that had been, and she realized that, in her weakened state, she could have easily slept for anywhere from a few hours to a week. All she knew was that it was dark outside, which meant that nighttime was upon them, and some considerate soul had lit a candle by her bedside in case she woke sometime during the night.

She sighed. Her eyelids felt all gritty and the nerves in her body weren’t working properly—she felt all numb. She squeezed a fist, and was frustrated by the realization that the muscles in her arm and hand refused to do more than curl into a loose ball. She was still suffering from the after-effects of using so much of her life-force, and it bothered her to feel so weak. All she really wanted to do was fall back to sleep—preferably for a long time—and wait it out while her body recuperated. It was only a matter of time, now.

Maeve’s expression was solemn as she turned her face to the gentle light of the single candle again. It was strange, really, and disconcerting, to think about how close she’d come to death. No one else knew just how close to the edge she’d been after casting those final spells. She hadn’t told them—what was the point, after all—and she certainly wasn’t going to tell them now. Yet, she thought privately, it was frightening to think about the prospect of death and the fact that she’d almost looked the Black Goddess in the face. Death didn’t scare her so much as leaving all her life’s work undone, never freeing her brother, never getting the chance to see him stand straight and tall as a man once again.

A gentle knock sounded at the door before it opened slightly, and a dark form peered in. Maeve moved slightly, her body protesting as sorely abused muscles were forced into action again, but she couldn’t tell who was at the door. The light of a single candle didn’t give her illumination enough to see by, and with her magical reserves so severely depleted even still, she could not sense who it was.

"Maeve?" The whispered voice was low, gentle, yet filled with both surprise and relief.

"Mm. I think so," she replied with an effort. Her voice cracked with disuse and she made a disgusted face. "What time is it?"

"What day, rather, I think," the voice chuckled, still colored with relief, and the sailor entered and shut the door behind him. Maeve was slightly puzzled to see Sinbad standing before her, but, she told herself, she really shouldn’t be so surprised. Even without the feelings she’d been sensing from him lately, he was more than a captain to his crewmembers and took personal concern in their welfare. If she’d been sleeping for a long time, as she supposed, then it was quite natural for him to be concerned about her.

He moved further into the room and sat down on a chair at her bedside, peering at her concernedly in the dim light of the candle. "You have no idea how relieved I am to see you awake!" he said, reaching out almost as if to touch her. He pulled away at the last moment but Maeve, seeing the relief on his face, took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. Sinbad smiled at her and squeezed back.

"So what day is it?" she asked, adjusting her body into a more comfortable position on the soft mattress.

"We defeated Abram’s army four days ago," he said, toying gently with her fingers and running his thumb over her smooth palm. It was a simple gesture, soft, unassuming, yet Maeve couldn’t help but feel sure there was something more behind it. "You’ve been asleep ever since—more than asleep, Firouz says. When we first came in to wake you the morning after we left the island, he said you were barely breathing at all and your pulse had slowed to almost nonexistence. Do you know how much that scared me?"

Maeve sighed and looked into his eyes. She couldn’t see the blue, but they shone dimly in the candlelight. "It was either that or let us all die," she said, her fingers absently running over his palm. "Which I refuse to do. As much as I complain, Sinbad, I really care about you—all of you—very much." She closed her eyes wearily and yawned slightly.

A gentle hand reached out and slid gently over her cheek, running into her hair and smoothing the red curls fondly. Maeve forgot to breathe at the soft, sweet touch, so different from any other she’d known before. Sinbad’s hand touched her face again, his knuckles gliding down the side of her cheek and lingering before they reluctantly lost contact with her.

"I know," he said softly, "but it worries me when you’re hurt." He brushed fingertips as light as the touch of a butterfly over her eyelids. "Maeve? Open your eyes?"

She did, watching him intently. Even in the dim light her eyes were twin pools of some dark substance foreign to him, melted stars glimmering in their depths. "Maeve, did you know this would happen?" he asked.

She hesitated before answering. "Ye-es," she admitted slowly, reluctantly. "Not exactly, but I knew enough."

"Enough? What exactly is enough?" He raised an eyebrow.

Maeve shrugged tiredly, the exhaustion still upon her. "I knew it was dangerous to use up so much of my energy, but I didn’t exactly have a choice, Sinbad."

"Is that what happened?" He sighed. "Maybe we’ve come to rely on your magic too heavily, Maeve. I hate to see you purposely putting yourself in danger because you think you need to. We’ve survived worse scrapes without magical aid." He gave a lopsided smile and wrapped a strand of softly gleaming hair around his finger. "I can’t remember when at the moment, but I’m sure we have sometime."

No way was Maeve going to tell him just how much danger she’d actually been in. What was the point?

"I’ll remember that," she murmured, stifling another yawn. Sinbad caught it, though, and a guilty look flashed across his face.

"Allah, I’m sorry, Maeve," he said sheepishly. "Firouz told us not to worry you when you woke, and here I am doing just that." He squeezed her hand again and made ready to stand. "You should get some sleep. I’ll go," he said with reluctance he was trying to conceal.

Maeve’s eyes held him where he was. "You never answered my first question," she said, a glimmer of laughter in their tired depths. "What time is it?"

"Late." Sinbad glanced out the porthole. "Everyone else is asleep. I just finished with my watch at the tiller, and I came in to check on you before heading back to bed." He gave her a smile. "I’ll be able to sleep better now, knowing you’re okay."

Maeve smiled back, though still wearily. "Nice to know I’m wanted." She settled back into the pillow.

Sinbad stood, but for some reason lingered by her bedside. He seemed more than reluctant to leave. Maeve, for her part, felt an echoing reluctance she couldn’t quite place. But being near the captain, simply being in his presence, was something she enjoyed and it had comforted her more than she would willingly admit to see him entering her room and the relief that had lit his eyes when he found her awake.

"Sinbad…" she started, not quite sure what she meant to say but knowing it would come out all wrong anyway. She raised her eyes to his, hoping he understood what was in them.

He did. With a small smile, a smile of affection and gratitude, he moved toward the bed again. "Yeah," he said, not a question, but an answer to her unspoken suggestion. She struggled into a sitting position as he sat down on the bed, leaning up against the headboard, and she relaxed and settled herself back against his chest. His arms wrapped around her with soft, firm warmth, and she nestled into his body contentedly. Sighing, she turned her head and rested it against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

"This is comfortable," Sinbad murmured, his throat vibrating against Maeve’s forehead as he spoke.

"Mm-hm," she mumbled back, a small, contented smile appearing on her face.

Sinbad relaxed, holding her body against his and feeling her sleepy warmth surround him. He hadn’t told her that he’d been awake for just as long as she’d been asleep—awake, for he could not sleep with the uncertainty that she might not wake. That fear had surrounded him just as surely as her warmth did now, for four awful days. The peace and security of having her nestled close to him, almost asleep in his arms, more than made up for it though, and the tired captain allowed himself to drift off to peaceful sleep with the fiery sorceress held gently, lovingly, in his arms.

The candle by the bedside flickered, as if trying to savor the moment, and as Maeve returned to the warm neutrality of slumber again, it winked out, a thin trail of soft smoke wafting through the air before being dispersed by the slow contented breathing of the couple in the bed.