“Ain’t gonna be much good if you can’t lift a mop!” Abram said, slapping him heartily on the back. Devon staggered a little form the blow. “Let’s take you to see what you’ll be doin’!”
Abram grabbed Devon’s wrist and towed him toward the back of the boat. Devon wondered wildly whether that was called aft, or port, or stern. He knew so little about boats or the ocean.
Abram dragged him up to a ladder, which was really just a set of rungs set into the wooden wall of a cabin. The huge man scampered up the rungs like a mountain goat would scale a cliff. Devon took his time, not wanting to fall again. Although the thought of Abram healing him again was definitely intriguing.
Before he could get distracted, Abram yanked him up the few rungs he had yet to climb. Devon yelped before his feet found purchase on the slick wooden deck. He hadn’t noticed the tossing of the ship until he’d hung above it for a split second, watching it fall beneath his feet. Abram didn’t wait for him to recover his poise, but continued hauling him to the far end of the ship. After a minute, they reached a strange diagram etched into the deck in a silvery metal. There were four circles, three arranged in a triangular fashion with the fourth overlaid on top. Each circle had glyphs and formulae inscribed around the outside and inside of its circumference.
“This’s a Stuther Isles charm circle,” Abram confided, slinging an arm around Devon’s shoulders. “We traded a whole cargo for it, and it’s paid itself back ten times over. Want to see it work?”
Before Devon could respond, Abram ducked behind him and gave him a push. Devon stumbled forward into the nearest ring. He caught his balance and turned to see Abram step into the center ring and raise his arm.
The four circles burst into azure light. Streaks of light flew into the sky around them, and Devon suddenly felt the same bone deep vibration that accompanied a Kosmima transit jump. His vision whited out.
Instead of reappearing somewhere else, he suddenly saw an image of a map. There was a pulsing blue Ventus glyph near Port Nanfula, which Devon immediately knew was his location. Throughout the rest of the Holy Ocean, the waters between Daentse and Aranda where the twin tower shrines of the gods lay, the map was covered with flowing green lines.
“They’re the winds,” he heard Abram say. “By myself, I can only see them for about ten miles. But the charm circle lets me see the entire ocean from Port Nanfula to Zydobe.”
“That’s brilliant,” Devon agreed,” but why do you need me? I’m Terros, not Atmos.”
“Just turn on your map lore,” Abram told him. “See what happens.”
Devon wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t want to get thrown overboard. He imagined his map lore sinking into the map-vision. Orange energy crackled across the vision, and it dissolved into blue and orange sparks. He heard Abram swear, and considered saying a few strong words himself before a new vision appeared.
This one seemed to be in real time. He could see the ship he was on, though there was a cerulean ring floating around it. As soon as he recognized the ship, the vision zoomed away. A golden line of light shot just ahead of him, and the ship vanished under the horizon behind them in a flash.
The golden light went almost due south, and soon the sky darkened, though as far as Devon could tell it was still daytime. He wondered what could be blocking all the light.
As he flew across the ocean, the waters grew darker and the waves higher and choppier. He saw nothing alive in the air or water. Soon, clouds appeared in the sky ahead of him, rotating ominously, and Devon suddenly knew where they were.
They were approaching the edge of the fabled First Storm. It wasn’t as huge as he’d expected; he could see the edges of the swirling cloud on both sides. It was still a terrifyingly powerful storm. Lightning crackled constantly through it, never taking the same path twice. Ropy cyclones occasionally reached down and sucked up seawater. It was a monstrously powerful storm, and the priests claimed it had been raging ever since Atmos and Terros first created mankind.
Before they got closer to the storm, blue light swirled around him and the golden line swerved, aiming out to the east. Devon heard Abram suck in a breath, and felt a strange ripple along his skin –
With a bright flash of light, the vision shattered. Devon found himself curled into a little ball
inside the now quiescent glyph circle. Abram was on his knees, panting heavily. Devon hesitantly relaxed, letting his limbs extend. He didn’t feel inordinately tired, considering the shape he’d been in when he landed on this boat.
“Sandos!” a man roared, immediately behind Devon, who made an undignified sound and tried to whirl around while staying as low to the deck as he could, resulting in a very ungraceful sprawl.
“Since when do ye get to abandon the wheel and play with yer damn toys?” the man snapped, addressing Abram. He was slight, but very clearly a powerful warrior, with scars up and down his burly, sea-tanned arms and an eyepatch under a black bandana.
“Since never, sir,” Abram replied, though his voice was far too casual for a situation as serious as the one unfolding around Devon seemed to be.
“Then what in Atmos’s tits do you think yer doin’?” the captain demanded.
“Well, this messenger lad just dropped into our laps, and I know we’ve been hurtin’ for someone with map lore to quicken our trips,” Abram explained, still not a trace of worry or repentance in his tone. In fact, he’d settled into a cross-legged tailor’s seat and had his hands behind his head, the picture of nonchalance. “Turns out, I think we can shave three days off our route.”
“Three days?” the captain spat.
“Aye, sir. The readin’ told me we can go a day closer to the Needle than we’ve ever tried. If we keep doin’ reads on it as we get closer, we should keep just far enough out to be safe.”
The captain stared hard at Abram, then turned his steely gray gaze on Devon, who smiled, immediately felt foolish, and changed his expression to a scowl. Then he panicked; what if he offended the captain? He tried rearranging his face into a neutral expression, but everything he’d ever learned about how to present himself to a stranger seemed to have fallen out of his head.
“Yer gonna put all our lives at stake on the word o’ this cracker fool?” the captain sneered. “Abram, ye’ve earned enough o’ my respect to listen to ye, but this brat’s the first one off my ship if Atmos so much as blinks toward us.”
Abram grinned, white teeth showing brilliantly against his skin. Devon wondered how he kept his teeth so white when he was at sea so much. Maybe it was another benefit of an Atmos blessing. Or maybe he invested in soda to clean them. He fought down an acute desire to find out how white his teeth were, up close.
“And ye’ll be the next one off the ship, Sandos!” the captain snapped, before turning and leaping down to the lower deck.
Devon stared after the man, astonished at how such a small man - no taller than him, surely! – could exhibit such a terrifying demeanor. And how could Abram just shrug it off? Devon was trembling a little and hadn’t gotten much more than a bar notice from the man.
“Captain’s not as scary as he seems, messenger,” Abram said, climbing to his feet. “Speaking of, what’s your name?”
“How do you know I’m a messenger?” Devon blurted.
Abram’s head quirked back and his eyebrows lifted in bemusement. “Well, first of all you’ve got the satchel,” he said, pointing. “Secondly, you think I’d forget someone I knocked head over heels?”
Devon’s eyes widened at the strange phrase, then remembered that Abram had done literally that. Some men got really offended when another man was attracted to them, and Devon had not been exactly been subtle in the last few minutes.
Of course, come to think of it, Abram hadn’t, either. Every Tranquilus healer Devon had ever visited had some kind of stimulating effect, but Abram had pushed him past the brink twice in as many minutes. Was that supposed to be a signal? He gazed at the sailor, who was waiting expectantly for an answer. What had he asked?
“Devon. Devon Knowles,” he finally said. “And you’re Abram…?”
“Sandos. First mate on the Greenbreeze,” Abram replied. He held out a hand to Devon, who reached up and grabbed it. Abram hauled him to his feet one more time, and Devon let himself be pulled in very close. Their eyes met, sea blue and sky blue. Devon felt his lips part in sheer physical reaction before Abram guffawed and shoved him gently away.
“We need to get you swabbing, lad,” he said. “Follow me, I’ll show you where your gear will be.”
*******
Sunlight on his face woke Alexander. He blinked sleepily, enjoying the warmth. He stretched his arms out, rolling over to see if Isaac was awake yet.
As he rolled, he fetched up against something strange. He realized he was on the floor and he had rolled up against the fireplace lintel. His body started urgently letting him know he’d slept on a floor – his right arm wouldn’t move, and his back was one giant knot.
He groaned and let himself fall back to his original position. He was on his back, sprawled in front of his fireplace. The one window in his apartment was shining directly on his face, which did make him feel a little better. He couldn’t work a healing on himself, but even knowing the storm of last night had blown itself out was a relief.
He’d spent the night wallowing in doubt and depression. Waking up to find Isaac gone struck a terrible blow to his confidence, even though the sunshine seemed to say “Give him a chance, he will come back!” One tiny ray of light shone like a bonfire in the devouring darkness of his depression, and gave him the strength to get up from the floor.
His clothes, slept in, were wrinkled and smelly. They were also uncomfortably damp, and as he trudged across the room to his kitchen, his shoes squelched. The disgusting sound dragged the spark of optimism out of him and he melted into a chair by the counter, unable to motivate himself to even grab one of the oranges in the bowl six inches from his hands.
His head drooped, and a sheet of paper caught his eye. It was the city newssheet, a pamphlet that came out once a week, describing the affairs of Zydobe. The headline at the top of the sheet cried out horrific news:
AIRSHIP CRASH INFURES TAVERN CROWD
The airship crash. Of course it had injured many people. Alexander hadn’t actually helped anybody by diverting it. He’d probably made it worse. He decided he needed to know exactly how much damage it had caused, and read the article with a grim purpose.
It spoke of the airships, owned by the merchant council that ran Zydobe. They were still in infancy, but testing had been so promising that civilians were told public rides would be soon, once this crash, which was the first unsuccessful flight, was thoroughly investigated. The source of power for the ships remained top secret, the newssheet claimed.
Fortunately for the public, a group of Kosmima gemsmiths had been enjoying a night at Life Support, an inn which had been saved by the daring courage of Alexander Benjamin Cartwright, currently suffering from a haunting after his daring use of an Algidus blessing.
Alexander tossed the newssheet away, disgusted. He was no hero, and the stupid rag was only playing him up to sell copies. He received it weekly to keep up with city gossip, the better to run his business, and knew a story like this about anyone else would have been extremely interesting.
In a thoroughly foul mood, Alexander thought about going downstairs and chewing Isaac out. This was the time Alexander needed him more than anything, and the selfish, Storm-blighted, Quake-barren innkeeper was too wrapped up in his own little problems that he couldn’t see how much pain Alexander was in.
Anger and frustration built up in Alexander until he felt like a teakettle about to explode. He shouted, closing his eyes and grabbing the nearest thing to him, throwing it as hard as he could. As he threw, he blasted out as much energy as he could. Brilliant white light exploded from his body, filling the room and reflecting off all the metal surfaces. His scream of anger continued for a moment before he ran out of breath. The blazing light dimmed as his scream died, leaving him standing in his dark kitchen, chest heaving from exertion. Glass shards covered the floor where the unfortunate bowl Alexander had seized had shattered against the wall.
The rage inside him hadn’t abated. Alexander had to do something with all the anger boiling inside his chest. He grabbed more dishes, hurling them in random directions. He tripped over his chair when he tried to reach the four plates on the center table. He fell and hit the ground hard. He kicked the chair savagely, flinging it across the room. He struggled to his feet, stumbled over to the chair and started bashing it against the wall. With each strike, a burst of red or orange sparkles exploded form his skin, hanging in the air around him in an oppressive cloud. Tears streamed from his eyes as the wooden chair splintered, and Alexander realized he was screaming.
The door slammed open, and Isaac rushed in. When he saw Alexander, he rushed to his side and grabbed his hands, curling both their fingers around the sad remains of the chair.
Alexander’s eyes flashed in rage and a silver blue cloud washed away from him, carrying Isaac and everything else it hit with it. He gestured with a closed fist, and the cloud pinned Isaac against the floor.
“Alexander, what’s wrong?” Isaac asked, concern and, yes, a touch of fear in his voice. “What are you doing?”
Alexander pulled up to his full height. He kept his focus on Isaac, running all the hateful things he’d been building through his mind, ready to give the man everything he deserved.
“How dare you come in here like this?” he demanded. Angry red light shone around him, and his mussed, damp, wrinkled clothing shifted, becoming a leather jacket and tight black pants. Steel jewelry appeared on his ears, nose, and eyebrows, and his hair lifted into a venomous, spiky, vitriolic crest. “You think you can just walk in here and hold my hands, make it all better?” His words dripped with disdain and sarcasm.
“I don’t know what’s wrong!” Isaac replied.
“You do not talk now!” Alexander thundered as light in the room dimmed, except for his angry aura and the misty blue cloud that held Isaac down. “I saved your inn, and you blame me? I nearly killed myself, and you’re jealous?”
“I was scared!” Isaac yelled. “I didn’t see the damn airship, you just started glowing! Then you passed out and this, this, huge wooden deathtrap destroyed three buildings next to mine! I thought you were dead too!” They had both started crying. Alexander felt his heart start to melt, but the anger felt too good after the crushing sadness. He dredged up the most hurtful thing he could say, something that would put Isaac in as much pain as he was in.
“You weren’t scared of me dying,” he hissed. “You were scared of losing your inn, or of me getting you killed.”
“I wasn’t then, but should I be know?” Isaac shot back. Alexander felt the blood beating in his face, and his vision tinted red. The blue-white mist became noticeably brighter, and Isaac started to choke. The force-mist had been pressing harder and harder against the floor. He could see Isaac’s skin, white with pressure, and he knew Isaac couldn’t breathe.
For one terrifying, exhilarating second, he pushed a tiny bit harder, relishing the feel of crushing this man, reveling in the fear in Isaac’s eyes. Then those hazel eyes rolled up, and Alexander froze, his anger melting into horror, and he breathed in a strangled gasp. He ran forward, the aura around him burning out and the illusion on his clothes and hair fading into gentle sparks. He waded through the force-mist, dissolving it as quickly as he could.
“Isaac, I’m so sorry! Isaac!” he gasped, the words tripping over each other in his haste to get them out between sobs. He put his hands on Isaac’s shoulders and shook very gently. Isaac’s skin, always pale, had lost its rosy blush and had a terrifying pallor. Alexander gulped, and started wracking his mind for what little he knew of healing. He should have gotten the training, he shouldn’t have shrugged off the priests that insisted he be taught healing and diagnosis. But right now, regrets couldn’t save Isaac, who still wasn’t breathing.
Alexander heaved in a shuddering breath and cupped Isaac’s neck with both hands, flesh to flesh. He felt the blood pulsing in Isaac’s veins, and could tell it was already weakening, carrying nothing to fuel his brain and muscles. Alexander let his blessing trickle into Isaac, seeing blue-white light begin to glow under the man’s skin. It flowed down Isaac’s veins and nerves, reaching his laboring heart and quiescent lungs.
Alexander felt what was wrong as an incredible pressure against his eyes and chest, like he was about to burst. He fiercely concentrated, willing Isaac to breath. Blue light began to glow inside Isaac’s chest, and Alexander could tell it was true light form the way it cast a shadow. Anyone would be able to see it, blessing or no.
“Make it right, make him breath, make him better,” Alexander mumbled as the light grow brighter. He couldn’t tell how well it was working, but as long as that light burned, Isaac was alive.
Suddenly, Alexander felt the pressure he was fighting give way, and Isaac’s entire body shone with a brilliant white light. Alexander flew backward, some force shoving him away from Isaac so hard he slammed against a wall and collapsed. The last thing he saw before his vision went dark was Isaac sitting up, still glowing, and the shadow of a figure in the doorway.
******
Devon wiped his forehead, wondering for the fiftieth time if he should have just let himself be thrown overboard. He’d been swabbing the deck for what felt like a horrible, salty, sunburned eternity. While he was not in the habit of borrowing strength from earth for every little task, he was so far away from any rock or stone that he couldn’t draw anything at all. It was a very noticeable lack.
He’d offered to strengthen the metal on the ship, but it turned out that one of the sailors was Terros-blessed and didn’t want “some city-bitch messenger boy” touching his fittings and braces. Abram had shooed the man away, cursing and glaring daggers over his shoulder at Devon, and explained that the man had no map lore at all, despite his affinity with metal.
“Really, he’s best with animals,” Abram had said. “He can call a mess o’fish without blinking. We always eat right good with Tiercel along.”
The burly sailor had shown him where a mop and bucket were kept. They’d had some nautical name, but Devon couldn’t remember what they were, or why he was mopping a wooden floor that really wasn’t terribly dirty. He had enough Fytevo to get the wooden planks of the deck to stick to his leather shoes just enough to keep him from stumbling every time the ship rocked. He didn’t seem to be seasick, which was a blessing. His lips were already peeling and tender, and throwing up would make retaining moisture even more of a problem.
He heard someone walk up behind him, and hurriedly dipped his yarn mop into the bucket.
“Don’t try foolin’ me,” a growling voice told him. He turned, and found himself facing the terrifying captain. “Abram swears ye’ll save us days on the way to Zydobe,” the captain continued, disbelief evident in his voice and his cross-armed posture. “Me, I think nothin’ good comes out o’ city folk. But Abram’s rarely wrong when he comes up with these squid-brained schemes, so yer still here.” His gaze, already unfriendly, became decidedly wintry. “We don’t want fer food, not with Tiercel’s fish callin’. But ye ain’t gonna be takin’ water form my boys ‘n girls. I heard some Petra man in Helvinac claim he could get the salt right outta ocean water. Ye make seawater drinkable, ye can drink it. Hope yer a quick study.” With a nasty smile, the captain walked away, yelling orders at men and women he passed.
Devon stared after him, his jaw hanging open. Make seawater drinkable? A blessing couldn’t work on water. Priests claimed it was because Atmos and Terros had both come from the sea, and the sea didn’t recognize their power. Devon had never thought about it, since Terros had nothing to do with water anyway. But with the problem suddenly achieving life and death importance, Devon began to frantically puzzle at why he couldn’t make water do his bidding like rock. Shouldn’t rock b emuch more stubborn than an element that did nothing but change constantly?
He looked at his bucket, which was filled to the brim with seawater. He picked it up and looked around, seeking an out of the way location to do some experimenting. His eyes fell on a hammock strung from the ship’s railing and a hook on one of the walls of the captain’s cabin. It was currently unoccupied.
He scurried over, and sat with his back to the wall where the hook was. He set the bucket down in front of him and submerged both hands. He concentrated on the water. Salt did come from rock, so in theory he should be able to draw it out. But he had to find it first. He could tell the bucket was made of steel, and he knew that the wood he sat on was oak, and there was copper down on the bottom of the ship. But the water was empty of anything he could detect with his blessing. He focused harder, narrowing his senses so that the boat dropped beneath his notice. He stared into the seawater, its strong smell burning his nostrils. He thought he saw a sparkle in the water, and focused even more intently, his world constricting to only what was inside that steel bucket.
“Well, here’s a surprise!”
The cheery voice shocked him out of his quasi-trance. The power he’d raised and had been running through the water twisted, bucked, and settled into the metal of the bucket. It gleamed with yellow light for a moment, then faded.
“Shifting Sands!” Devon swore, looking up to see Abram standing over him, holding an apple and a leather bag.
“Here,” the sailor said, handing them both down to the irate messenger. “You’ll be right thirsty about now.”
Devon took the offered gifts. “Thank you,” he said, trying to sound grateful instead of thoroughly pissed off. He thumbed the spout on the leather bag open and took a drink. The water was delicious and fresh, and surprisingly cold. But then, the vast majority of sailors had an Atmos blessing. Some were probably quite adept at Algidus, and keeping water cold probably wasn’t very complicated.
As the water filled hismouth, he noticed something odd about it, but he wasn’t sure what exactly. It tasted empty, somehow. While hhe tried to place why it felt so odd, Abram sat down next to him, flinging a friendly arm around his shoulders and completely distracting him.
“Why’d you decided to sit under my hammock and look at some bucket o’ water?” Abram asked. “You surely can’t scry?”
“No, of course not,” Devon answered, welcoming the chance to think about something other than how close Abram was to him. Was it his imagination, or was he being pressed into Abram’s side? Devon hated this kind of interaction. Every movement Abram made was like lightning running down Devon’s nerves, but he couldn’t be sure it was on purpose! It was infuriating, but he found himself waiting anxiously for that next shot of white-hot sensation to race across his skin.
“So why were you so busy starin’ in there?” Abram asked, pulling another apple out of a pocket in his voluminous white trousers.
“The captain told me I had to figure out how to make seawater drinkable,” Devon said, his voice taking on the unmistakable edge of a whine. “But I can’t even feel the salt, let alone pull it out!”
Abram had a broad smile, which did nothing to make Devon feel better. “Have you tried comparin’ it to fresh water?” he asked. “When I was learnin’ about sea storms for the first time, I didn’t get what was different about ‘em ‘til I got back to land. Then the differences were easy to see as lightnin’.”
Devon blinked, then poured some freshwater onto his palm. Immediately, he noticed the difference. There was a sense of emptiness to it, the same one he’d noticed drinking the water. He leaned forward, shrugging out from under Abram’s arm to put his other hand into the swab bucket. Abram, rather than pull his arm back, snaked it around Devon’s waist, making him shudder with agreeable shivers.
Devon looked up at Abram before putting his hand into the water. That was about as obvious as a signal as there could be, wasn’t it? Their eyes met, a question in Devon’s, smoky promise in Abram’s. After an intense moment, Abram moved in and was kissing Devon.
Their lips pressed together for a moment. Devon’s eyes drifted closed as Abram’s hand passed over his cheek, fingers running through his hair. When Abram’s other hand passed down his stomach he gasped.. He felt Abram’s mouth stretch into a smile, and suddenly a tongue was in his mouth.
Devon went to wrap his arms around Abram, but the lack of support and their awkward, unbalanced position, twisted around to face each other while their legs were pointed out toward the sea, made him squeak and fall. Abram chuckled, following him down.
Arranged on the deck, they were much more solid, and Devon opened his mouth to allow Abram back in. However, the sailor went a different route, tracing a path around his neck with his lips and leaving Devon’s mouth open for a completely different reason. He thought briefly about returning the favor, but quickly decided to just let Abram keep working.
When Abram found his earlobe, he exhaled forcefully as lips closed around it. When a tongue traced around the curve of his ear, he made a stupid, low-pitched sound and snuggled closer to Abram’s warm body, sliding his hand down Abram’s back and pulling himself in as tightly as possible. When teeth closed on his earlobe, he flat out moaned. Abram continued to play with his ear until Devon couldn’t stand it for one more second. He writhed around, wanting to taste Abram’s tanned, salty skin.
He tried to copy what Abram had done, following a trail around his neck and finding his way to the man’s ear, but Abram moved his head, capturing Devon’s lips with his own. Teeth scraped across his lower lip, a tiny stab of pain riding on the crest of a wave of pleasure. Devon sucked on Abram’s tongue, trying to show that he wasn’t some innocent, naïve boy, and that he knew what he was doing.
Abram recaptured his tongue, pulling back while biting Devon’s lip so that Devon had to follow upward. More teeth nibbled on his tongue, and they were both making quiet but unmistakable moans.
Abram’s hand slid down Devon’s chest, and silvery shivers shot across his skin to his groin, where his pants were already straining. Devon’s eyes popped open as his back arched, and his hands clenched into fists in Abram’s shirt.
He immediately saw a woman leaning against a railing, shrieked a little bit, and wriggled out from under Abram’s bulk.
“What’s wrong?” Abram asked, startled. “I thought you were having fun?”
Eyes wide, Devon pointed at the woman, who seemed to be politely ignoring them while she smoked a rolled up piece of paper with tobacco inside. Devon was surprised she was still there; the two of them had been getting kind of loud.
Abram followed his gesture, then guffawed. Devon stared at him, completely bemused about what was going on.
“I put up a sight and sound barrier,” Abram explained through his laughter. “No one had any idea. Come back here.”
Devon shook his head. The mood was completely lost. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not with someone watching, even if she can’t see us. Not in the daytime!”
Abram looked puzzled, but shrugged. “Then we’ll try again tonight. You don’t have a place to sleep anyway, so you might as well stay with me.” He started to get up, then saw Devon’s face, a mixture of outrage and confusion plastered on his features. “What? What’s wrong?”
It took Devon a second to get the words out. “Were you planning on asking me if I wanted to sleep with you?” he finally demanded.
“It was pretty obvious, I thought,” Abram said. “You’ve been starin’ at me all day, an’ touchin’ me all the time. You seemed to be havin’ a good time!”
Devon stuttered his response. “You, you could have still asked!”
Abram rolled his eyes. “City folk. Devon Knowles, may I have the pleasure of knowin’ you intimately?” he asked, his voice full of mockery.
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