The time had had a souring effect between him and Dolanna. He was somewhat angry that she had punished him, and stewing about it alone in the room day after day did not help that at all. He was mad at her, but he already realized that it was like a rebellious adolescent stiffening against the orders of a parent. Her rebuke of him had also stung him, stung him deeply, making him feel like he was starting to drive away his own friends. His friends and family were dear to him; they were all that he had left in a very empty, cruel, and unforgiving world. Without them, he would be utterly lost, and the very thought that Dolanna didn't like him anymore was enough to send a cold wave through his heart. He wasn't sure why he could be both angry and afraid that she had rejected him, but he was.
The fifth day of imprisonment began as the other four had, with him trying to sleep away as much of it as possible. There was a kind of sublime forgetfulness in sleep, and being part cat, he had the ability to sleep whenever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. But the sounds of laughter and voices would drift in from above, and it would awaken him with a sharp pang of loneliness and regret. His cabin had no windows, forcing him to rely on the light of a candle, but it was currently out. There was no need for light, and the light shining from the crack under the door was more than sufficient for him to see if he wanted to. He couldn't read like that-it was too dim, and a cat's eyes couldn't see with the exacting clarity needed to make out letters written on a page-but he didn't feel much like doing anything that required rational thought. He drifted in and out of sleep, trying to ignore the sounds of music above him.
And then the entire ship rocked violently to the side, followed up by a ear-splitting crack that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire ship. Tarrin was hurled off the bed and head-first into the wall some five paces away, so violently did the ship lurch, as if struck by some gigantic hand. The impact dazed him, leaving him to lay on the floor woozily and try to stop counting all the pretty little stars. After what seemed ten years, he finally managed to shake the cobwebs loose from his mind. He pulled himself off the floor, fighting against a wave of intense pain that went up his skull and down his spine. The impact had broken his skull, and it didn't seem to be healing back very fast. He left his head drooping until the pain subsided, and then he quickly changed form and rushed out of the cabin.
The companionway was clogged by several fallen beams from the ceiling above, and more than one small hole let murky light filter in from the sky above. He slithered over and around several obstacles, and over the still form of Phandebrass the Unusual, who looked by casual inspection to be alive but unconscious, clonked on the head by a piece of wood. He didn't have time to mess with that now, he had to get on deck and see what had happened. He raced up to the steep stairs, then was thrown back to the deck as the ship shuddered again. Tarrin clawed back to his feet as the ship swayed alarmingly back and forth, hearing the screams and the sounds above that sounded like breaking wood and general confusion. The light from the outside streamed down the stairs, heavy with dust shaken free by the impacts. Using the claws on his paws and feet, he pulled himself up onto the deck by steadying himself against the rocking of the ship by hooking into the walls of the staircase.
Outside it was chaos. The central mast was sheared off about halfway up its length, leaning heavily over and straining the rigging that held the masts and sails in place. Debris littered the deck, as well as several still forms, and to the ship's left he could see a large fogbank. Six large, sleek black ships hung lazily in midair, moving with a silent grace as they surrounded the garishly painted galleon, and he saw men along the sides, pointing down at the decks and unleashing small, sizzling missles that looked to be purely magical in nature. Men and women rushed about mindlessly, screaming and seeking shelter, even as some of them fell to the magical attacks from the ships above. Zakkites and their skyships, probably attacking by surprise from the fog.
Tarrin simply stood there, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. He surveyed the deck, looking for his friends, for his sisters. Dar was hunkered under a fallen boom and sailcloth, looking up at the ships in raw panic. Faalken had smashed a hold hatch and physically threw Dolanna into it before jumping in himself, just as a sizzling bolt of lighting hit the deck right where he had been standing. Allia had pulled a young woman into another hatch near the bow before disappearing with her below decks. Binter was sheltering Keritanima near the bow bulwark, holding onto her, as the Wikuni kicked and gouged and seemed to be screaming, but it was lost in the loud cracks and deafening din of the coordinated attack. It was her eyes. She was in a panic, and she was desperately trying to get free of her protector and run across the deck. Tarrin followed Keritanima's eyes, and he saw them.
Sisska laid still on the deck, her tail twitching spasmodically, and beside her laid Miranda, who had a wisp of smoke rising from her chest.
He never remembered running across the deck. One moment he was hunched in the stairwell, and the next he was kneeling beside Miranda. Her simple peasant dress was scorched in several places, but it was the hideous charred wound in her chest, smoking above and between her breasts, that captured his attention. Her burned breastbone was clearly visible, and the flesh around gaping wound was seared. The smell of burnt fur and flesh reeked from her. Tarrin looked at her in stunned confusion, into eyes that were glassy and empty.
"No," he said quietly, hugging her to his chest. She was dead. He couldn't believe it. Miranda, gentle Miranda, with her quiet, wise ways and her cheeky grins. Miranda, who always had a place on her lap for him, always took the time to pay attention to him when nobody else would or could. Miranda, who probably understood him better than Allia, yet never sought to usurp Allia's rightful place in his life. Always favoring the background, even with him, her presence was always noticed by him, even if it wasn't by anyone else. She was his friend, one of the few that she trusted. She couldn't be dead. It was impossible!
He stared into her empty eyes again, shaking his head. The impact of something searing against his back barely registered to him, because his entire world seemed to be dissolving away.
"No," he said more forcefully, as dumb shock was quickly being replaced by rage. A searing, blinding, overwhelming anger that boiled up in him like an erupting volcano, but he did not fight it. He couldn't fight it. Not like this, not now. He welcomed it, joined with it. He knew what it wanted to do, and he wanted that himself. He set Miranda down on the deck gently.
"NnnnnnnnnnnnnnOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He shrieked as he lost himself. Blindingly white radiance literally exploded from his paws, as the Cat took hold of the Weave and nearly ripped it asunder as he demanded its power, all the power it could give to him. He jumped to his feet as that power began to build, faster than was possible for the richness of the surrounding Weave, until its light limned over his entire body. The scream of denial transformed into an inarticulate bellow of pure, abject fury, so loud that it echoed back from the fogbank and made the entire ship vibrate with the immensity of its power. He raised his paws against the nearest of the Zakkite skyships, which was about twenty spans in the air and about thirty spans off the rail, whose every eye was riveted to him.
A huge bolt of pure, raw, magical power blasted from his paws, the same chaotic weave of Fire, Air, Earth, Divine energy, and token flows from the other spheres to grant the spell the power of High Sorcery. It struck the Zakkite ship dead in the stern. The instant it hit, the wood of the side of the ship simply disintegrated under the immense power of the weave, and debris and shards of wood exploded with the beam as it ripped its way completely through the entire ship. He deliberately raked that magical onslaught across the entire ship's length, from stern to bow, literally cleaving the ship in half, implacably sending a steady stream of fiery debris flying from the far side of the ship as the beam burned and punched through the ship and continued on for nearly a league before finally dissipating.