Alexander woke again. He attempted to open his eyes. This time, rather than getting no response, his eyelids merely felt as if they were far too heavy to lift. An encouraging sign.
He had slept off and on for what seemed like days, though he reasoned it had been more like hours. Isaac had been sitting at his side every time he’d come to consciousness, though without any way of alerting Isaac of his mental state, he could only rely on the scent Isaac wore, or the sounds he made while cooking, or reading, or talking to himself.
He’d grown accustomed to the phantom play of light behind his eyelids, billows of acid green and waves of red and yellow. This awakening, though, he could see only a solid sheet of cool blue.
A deep voice began to speak. Alexander recognized the chant from childhood classes his parents had taken him to in Aethros, in the Prime Cathedral of Atmos. He was being cleansed. A wave of pins and needles washed through his extremities. His toes began to itch, and with joy Alexander wriggled them ferociously.
As the priest continued to chant, Alexander reluctantly dredged up memories of his role in this ritual. He visualized the Needle, the tower that housed the spirit of Atmos, a tower with no doors or stairs, only a single opening at the top called the Eye. He focused on the Prayer of Contrition.
Atmos, Mother of Air, Breath of Infinity
Forgive my transgression on your power
As my blessing fills my breath
So may your spirit inhabit my body
A spark of electricity shocked his eyebrows and danced down his body. As it shocked different muscles, he felt sensation returning. He gleefully rolled his eyes, exasperated that his priest specialized in Ventus, the male facet of Atmos that governed storms, wind, and lightning, but thrilled that he was regaining control over himself.
After another minute of chanting and painful muscle spasms and shocks, Alexander’s eyes snapped open. Isaac was standing at his feet, concern on his face. To his right was a tall man, robed in dark blue fabric, with a stole of silver and the glyph of Ventus, evocative of wind, rains, and lightning, tattooed prominently on his forehead. The man was shaved bald, with bushy brown eyebrows and very dark blue eyes.
“Alexander!” Isaac blurted, hurrying forward. He dropped to his knees next to Alexander’s head. Alexander realized he was lying on the couch in Isaac’s small room behind the bar. This was where Isaac kept his money, paperwork, and generally slept. Though they’d been together for almost a year, and Alexander lived in the same building, they hadn’t yet moved their things together. On bad days, Alexander worried that Isaac wasn’t as committed to the relationship as he himself was.
But for every dark thought that Alexander couldn’t help but think, he had a memory of Isaac like this, staring desperately into his eyes, searching for any sign that something was wrong. Isaac was gripping his hands so tightly Alexander could feel bones creaking. Alexander opened his mouth, but his tongue was dry as paper and no sound came out. Panic flared in Isaac’s eyes while Alexander worked up some moisture in his mouth. Before Isaac could say anything, Alexander smiled and squeezed his hand back.
“Terros’s Bones, you’re all right,” Isaac breathed.
“I’m fine, Isaac,” Alexander said, his voice creaking like a rusty gate. “It’s just a haunting. No one else was going to save Life Support.” The words brought back the memory of that night, the flying ship hurtling toward them, the blazing light of his Algidus blessing arcing around him and saving his home. “Was anyone killed?”
A sound much like a sob burst out of Isaac’s chest. He buried his head in Alexander’s chest. Alexander freed a hand and stroked Isaac’s dark hair.
“No one died. There was a group of Kosmima gemsmiths in the bar, and they saved everyone who was injured. Including you,” Isaac mumbled. He lifted his head, showing Alexander his shining eyes.
“You should be very grateful, Master Cartwright,” the Atmos priest interrupted, disapproval evident in his voice. “Your friend was quite insistent that I come attend to you. I do believe if he’d had to, he would have kidnapped me and dragged me here. Take care you do not invoke powers beyond your control again. The wrath of Atmos is not easily mollified.”
With that, the priest swept out of the room. Alexander snorted. Isaac laughed tiredly.
“Priests have their own priorities, Alex,” he began, the well-worn beginning of a familiar argument.
“Why by the Needle do we have these gifts if using them to save lives nearly kills us?” Alexander demanded.
“We don’t!” Isaac snapped, pushing away from Alexander. “You do. You’re the great hero of the week, savior of Quick Street! We mere mortals have no business bothering you with petty concerns like belief!”
“Isaac-“ Alexander started, but Isaac turned and left the room, slamming through the door to the bar, leaving Alexander alone with the cheery lamps, cream walls, and dark leather furniture of Isaac’s room, and only the view of the storm outside through the back door’s window. He hadn’t even gotten up from the couch yet.
A gust of wind rattled the window on the door. Alexander swore, tired of unseasonable storms. Because of the cleansing, he was completely empty of any supernatural energy, so he couldn’t sense the storm at all. He sat up on the couch and closed his eyes, focusing on his blessing. He would suffer from the storm, but he needed to take his mind off of Isaac’s outburst.
About half of all children were born bearing a blessing from either Atmos or Terros, the gods that had created the world. When a blessed child first cried, their marks would blaze into being on their skin. The first mark described the baby’s guiding direction, the area where their power would be strongest. North was for Thermas, Godri of fire and heat. South was for Algidus, the Godfen of ice and snow. East was the domain of Tranquilus, Goddess of clear days and light, and Ventus was god of the west. Four aspects of Atmos, bigender, nogender, female, and male. Terros had four similar aspects, Petra, Kosmima, Panida, and Fytevo, but Alexander knew very little about their role in the pantheon of Terros.
In thinking about the form of Atmos, Alexander was symbolically awakening the influence of each facet of her in himself. A blessing granted all four powers to a child, but two were negligibly useful – like Alexander’s Thermas and Ventus – one was dominant, like Alexander’s Tranquilus, and one was generally moderately strong, which for Alexander was Algidus. He felt a breath of heat on his face, then a crackle of electricity along the hair on his arms. Cool air settled on his hands, and sunlight seemed to shine on his face.
The single most basic power that every person with a blessing had, no matter how strong or weak, was an innate sense of direction, as accurate as a magnetic compass. Alexander felt that sense return, easing a feeling of disorientation he had barely acknowledged. Next, his awareness of the weather returned. He felt the storm raging around them as a pressure on his skin, and a dim roaring in his ears.
He opened his eyes. Normally, he’d be able to see and hear much better than average, but the storm kept his sense down to a typical level. Right now, he’d only really be able to exercise his Algidus blessing: moving objects, being harder to see or hear, and a better sense of balance and traction.
He stood, wavering slightly as muscles he hadn’t used in a day protested. The last thing he wanted to do right now was walk into the bar and deal with Isaac’s temper. Instead, he let himself into the alley through the back door, not taking much care to protect Isaac’s room from the wind and rain that poured in.
The alley behind the inn was sheltered from the worst of the storm’s might. Alexander walked to the mouth of the alley. The outer stair that led to his room was angled on the other side of the building. He could do nothing about the rain pelting the road and buildings, but with a storm this fierce to power his efforts he could probably put up a decent windscreen.
He turned to face the west, coincidentally the same direction as the stairway. He focused on the wind whipping around him. Carefully, not too much at a time, he persuaded a breeze to whirl around him, deflecting raindrops and the debris kicked up by other winds. Once he felt confident, he released his fierce concentration and darted out into the unsheltered street.
His breeze twined around him, dragging on his thin shirt and hair, but most of the rain missed him. He sprinted up the stairs, and yanked on his door, which was of course locked. Rather than fumble for a key, he touched the keyhole with a finger and willed the tumblers to fall. Blue light flickered in the keyhole, and his door swung open. Before entering, Alexander grabbed a fistful of breeze, which felt much like grabbing an eel combined with a rampaging bull. He didn’t hold it one second more than necessary; he released the magic that kept the breeze bound to him and flung it away. For a moment, he saw ribbons of green light swirling up into the storm.
Now free of his windscreen, he rushed inside and slammed his door. The outer office had been cleaned since he’d last seen it, no doubt the work of Isaac’s worry. He passed through the door to his apartment, which also showed evidence of serious cleaning.
His lights had dissipated in the face of this storm, so he stumbled over to the fireplace. He rolled his wrist, pulling sparks from the charged air, and sent a tiny lightning bolt into the wood already stacked there. The effort to do that, on top of controlling the breeze for even a few moments, left him panting and sprawled on the floor. His legs had completely given out. He hated being primarily Tranquilus, even if it made his job very easy.
To be fair, he hated being Tranquilus on stormy days. He suspected even those with powerful Ventus blessings despised sunny days, where even conjuring a breeze to cool themselves off would leave them flat on their face like Alexander.
The logs in the fireplace had caught fire and were smoldering with great promise. Normally, Alexander would have helped it along by drawing cold away from the logs, but right now he was perfectly content to lie and wait for the fire to build itself up.
While he sprawled on the floor, he pondered the situation with Isaac. Generally speaking, people without a blessing weren’t treated badly, at least anymore. Decades ago there had been a caste system that put unblessed citizens at the bottom, but a bloody revolution that had started in Aethros, then spread violently across Aranda and Daentse, put an end to that. Even someone with a blessing couldn’t stand up to a screaming mob. Since then, everyone coexisted; it was actually illegal to discriminate against someone, blessing or not.
Isaac had never even hinted that he had a problem with Alexander’s blessing. It wasn’t like Alexander had asked for it. His parents certainly hadn’t been thrilled when he moved away from Aethros and started a business in Zydobe.
So why would he be so sensitive about it now? Had something changed? Alexander’s thoughts began to spiral downward as lightning crackled outside and the wind howled, shaking the building.
****
Devon stopped outside the final building of his day. His pickups for Judge Hanover and Chancellor Mark had been uneventful. He hadn’t even met the officials themselves, he’dm erely been handed an envelope by a stuffy clerk in each lobby. All three deliveries were actually going to the same building, if not the same person, which made Devon’s life much simpler.
He took stock of the building, one he’d never entered before. It was the building that housed the Lord Marshal, who was in charge of Port Nanfula’s military, as well as the Guard Captain’s office and the Chief Registrar, who received a copy of all major transactions by the marketplaces. Devon assumed that was what the envelope from the House of Acuity contained, but he hadn’t the slightest clue what the other two messages were.
The building was short and squat, made of inexpensive but sturdy gray stone. Devon didn’t see any gems, but it was possible they were hidden inside the stone walls rather than ostentatiously displayed. This was a military building, after all, not a governmental one.
The messenger’s entrance was in the back, marked by a discreet but clear path, paved in green stone that split off from the main drive that led up to the front door. Devon started to concentrate on the building, letting his map lore develop a path for him, when he heard footsteps running behind him.
He lunged to his right, his concentration on the building shattering. Golden light flared crazily around him as he spun, trying to get a view of the person coming at him.
It was a sunny, warm day, so the sudden burst of light that forced his eyes shut and wrenched a yelp from his throat told him he had a Tranquilus thief attacking him. He stamped his foot, and a ripple of stone spread out form him. He heard a grunt and the sound of a body hitting the ground.
He blinked, but still couldn’t see through a dazzling cloud of sparkles and flashes. Deciding he’d rather make a delivery late than not at all, he spun and took off running. His map lore spread out in front of him, giving him the same innate sense of what to avoid that he would have in his own room. It could not, however, tell him where people were. He heard shrieks and cries of protest that coincided with impacts as he clipped men and women about their business, but he didn’t dare stop until he reached a safe place. There was a constabulary on this street, but it was nearly a mile away, and Devon had no idea how close his assailant was, or even if he was even being pursued.
Almost as the thought crossed his mind, something hot crashed into his back and sent him sprawling. Only the fact that all his concentration was on the road in front of him kept him from breaking his nose and teeth on the packed earth. He rolled as he hit and sent a burst of energy into the earth, which pushed back, flinging him up to a standing position. He immediately started running, but this time he bent his attention to his sides, seeking an unusual escape route.
In an instant, he had one. This time, he yanked power from the road into his body. As a bright tingle filled his muscles, he pushed off, making a short hop forward, then leapt, soaring incredibly high. While in the air, his blindness was total. He knew that he’d judged the jump right, just as he had a thousand times before, but it was one thing to know that when he could see the roof he was hurtling toward, and quite another when at any moment-
Instead of crashing into the shingled roof of the shop he’d jumped for, a blast of wind caught him and sent him tumbling wildly through the air. This had to be the work of a Ventus blessing – no natural wind would be able to keep someone aloft like this. As he tumbled and flailed through the air, he kept a cloud of energy around himself, as far out as he could push. He knew he was moving south, toward the ocean, so the streets would be dropping from beneath him. If the aura he was projecting touched anything of stone, metal, or plant material, he could do something to slow or stop his fall.
At the same time, he tried to sooth his eyes. Tears and mucus were now all over his face, dripping into his mouth. The delicate regeneration effect his Panida blessing allowed would probably not have an effect on damaged eyes, but he might be able to at least ease the pain of it.
He had a split second warning that he was about to hit something huge, flat, thin, and made of canvas. Just long enough to relax and let the huge sheet – a sail, he realized – catch him. Canvas, though it came from a plant, was very difficult to work with because of the heavy treatments it went through, like waterproofing. Devon had sufficient motivation, however, to convince the sail to fold around him, rather than shooting him out the direction he’d come. Once his momentum had been killed, he released his concentration and slid down the sail. Before he’d gotten far, something smashed into the other side of the sail, throwing him down toward what he presumed was the ship’s deck. Again, before he could crash into the deck, a blast of wind caught him, though this one only held him long enough for him to hit the deck at a gentle, bruising speed, rather than a bone-breaking one.
“Well, well, mates, we got us a stowaway!” a hearty voice announced. Devon, currently content to lie on the wooden deck and moan, felt a spike of fear.
“We just cleared the harbor mouth,” another voice responded. “No way will the captain turn around. Toss ‘im overboard.”
“No!” Devon squeaked. He could swim, but swimming out in the open ocean was a far cry from paddling about in an inlet or stream on land.
“Ah, it’s alive!” the first voice said. “Look, someone’s gone and put a flashdazzle on ‘is eyes. Can get rid o’ that, at least.”
A huge hand settled over Devon’s eyes. A powerful throb wracked his body, curling his toes and making him moan again, though it wasn’t painful. The hand lifted away, and Devon could see again, though his eyes still watered and his nose was still running.
“Abram, one day you’ve gotta learn to do that without hittin’ people’s private spots,” one of the sailors, a muscular woman with dark skin and a long sable braid teased, slapping a mountain of a man on the shoulder. The sailor – Abram, Devon thought, does he look familiar? - had a neat black beard and swarthy skin. When Devon made eye contact, he remembered. No one could forget those brilliant blue eyes. It was the sailor that had knocked him down yesterday.
Devon was getting very tired of being knocked down.
“’E’s not really a stowaway, though,” Abram said, stroking his luxurious beard in thought. “A stowaway would be a little less…obvious.”
“I was jumped in Port Nanfula,” Devon said, his voice raw. He must have been screaming. “They dazzled me so I tried to get up on the roof to get away. When I jumped, they hit me with a wind. It must have carried me out here.” He realized how foolish he sounded. What wind would carry a grown man miles out to sea? Before he could babble further explanation, Abram spoke again.
“Aye, that’s the danger o’ conjurin’ a wind rather than just borrowin’ one,” the sailor said. Devon found himself staring at the man’s very pink lips, swallowed, and shook his head, forcing himself to pay attention to what he said. “Especially on a bright day like this, if you’re not careful they’ll get ideas o’ their own. You got any good reason I shouldn’t toss you over the side, messenger?”
“I, uh, I have map lore, I can strengthen any metal you’ve got, clear out rust,” Devon babbled, trying to think of anything useful he could do on a boat, so far form land. “I can tell you plants that are safe to eat, um…”
“Map lore, you say?” Abram asked.
“Yes, it’s my strongest talent,” Devon replied. “I’m not sure it’ll work out here, but I can try!”
“Oh, I can think of a thing or two we could do with map lore,” Abram said, licking his lips and looking Devon up and down. “Here, get up.” He reached down, grabbed Devon’s arms, and hauled him to a standing position. Bruises in Devon’s arms and legs screamed at the burly sailor’s strong grip, and Devon let out a hiss of pain.
Abram’s brow furrowed, and Devon felt another throb pulse through him. His back arched, and his head fell back, while his hands clenched into fists and his toes tried to curl under his feet. This one lasted longer, and his breath caught in his throat. His hips bucked, and every muscle in his arms and legs corded up. A thoroughly embarrassing sound ripped out of Devon's mouth, feeling like it came straight from his stomach.
All of a sudden his body went completely limp. He fell, and the sailor caught him, cradling him for a moment against his broad chest.
Abram chuckled, and propped Devon up again. Once Devon’s brain got past how solid and warm Abram had felt, he realized that his bruises felt more like he’d gotten them a week ago, rather than a minute ago.
