Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 by WindChance Read Free Book Online

but the younger man stepped
    away, twisting his shoulder from the man's approach. “You can't blame the boy for what his father did!
    You can't make him pay for another man's debt."
    “I paid for my father's debt!” Weir snapped. “I lost my home; I lost my belongings; I lost my father! I
    was blamed for what my father did! If that man is Giles Sorn's son, he has a debt to me!"
    Stevens didn't like the sound of that. “What kind of debt?"
    “I swore on my father's grave that I would make the Sorns pay for taking our land, for killing him, for
    separating Genny and me.” A muscle in his jaw bunched. “You ask what debt?” Weir's voice went low
    and deadly. “He owes me his life!"
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Chapter Six
    Patrick Kasella entered the cabin and felt something akin to true remorse well up inside him as he took in
    the scene before him.
    Lying asleep on the Captain's bunk, their unknown guest was hunched over the volume of short stories
    Weir had loaned him. The book was clutched tightly to him; his head was tucked down, off the pillow,
    his right cheek resting on the book's title. He had drawn his knees up to his chest, the edge of the book
    pressed tightly between his legs as though he were guarding it even in sleep. Now and again, the man
    would twitch, begin to straighten his legs and then stop as though he had encountered an invisible barrier,
    and Paddy knew that was the legacy of the cage in that this man had no doubt spent countless,
    uncomfortable hours.
    Sitting down on the stool beside the bunk, Patrick watched the man sleeping, feeling to the roots of his
    being the same unbearable loneliness he knew this man had experienced. He drew in a deep breath,
    letting it out slowly, wishing to put off indefinitely what he must find out. As he exhaled, he saw his
    companion awake and look at him with trusting, inquisitive eyes.
    “You're Syn-Jern Sorn, aren't you?” Paddy asked before he could lose his nerve.
    If there was surprise, it didn't show. The only emotion that seemed to pass over the man's face was one
    of relief. The chiseled lips parted, trembled as though he was about to speak, then closed.
    “Do you know who Weir is? The Captain of this ship?” Patrick felt as though he'd been kicked in the gut
    when the man nodded. Patrick ran his hand through the thick ebony of his hair, stood up, and paced the
    room.
    It was difficult to speak, painful even, but Syn knew he had to try. It took him several attempts before
    any intelligible sound came out. His voice was rusty with disuse, croaking, and grating. He wasn't
    surprised that the man standing at the far end of the cabin waited patiently for him to speak, to get the
    words out, to piece them together in a way that made sense.
    “He's going to kill me isn't he?” came the hoarse, halting words.
    Patrick shook his head. “I hope not.” He looked away. “I honestly don't know."
    Again the effort was horrendous, excruciating. “But he's taken an oath to do so."
    Patrick flinched. He was looking into a face that had resigned itself to death, whether quick and painless,
    or lingering and hard, and it tore at his heartstrings, hurt him deep in his soul. He watched as Syn-Jern
    Sorn, his best friend's sworn enemy, eased his legs out, and picked up the volume of short stories. He
    seemed to be caressing the book as though it were a cherished lover, running the palm of his hand over
    the pebbly texture of the leather binding before he extended it carefully to Patrick.
    “Thank him for loaning this to me. It was always one of my favorites."
    Paddy took the book and laid it on the desk where a dozen or more other novels were scattered. He
    heard a soft sigh and looked back to see Sorn watching him, gauging his concern.
    “Don't worry about me. No one ever has before."
    The tone, the words, the look, cut Paddy to the quick. He felt his temper soaring, felt the fury at an
    unjust world welling up inside him and his words were harsher than he