Devon recovered enough composure to sneer back, though it was diluted by how his body was leaning in toward Abram, as if they were opposite ends of magnet stones. “I suppose you may, if you really insist,” he said, doing his dead level best to keep his voice lofty and aloof, though it really came across as wobbly and desperate.
Abram winked, and reached forward. Devon flinched back, but Abram was only pulling his seawater bucket back in front of Devon.
“Guess you should get back to work then?” Abram said, before leaping with impossible grace, from his lounging position on the deck to standing in a single motion. He strode away, whistling cheerfully.
Devon tried manfully to scowl after him, but couldn’t stop his expression from melting into a misty smile, even despite his irritation. After all, Abram did have a point; he had been acting like a randy cow. He shook his head and bent his attention to the saltwater. Now that he knew what to look for, this shouldn’t take too long.
***
Alexander woke to light shining on his face. He groaned, considered moving, then decided it hurt too much and elected to remain where he was. Why was he slumped against a wall? He struggled to remember what had happened.
“That’s it for this gem. Why do you keep calling me to heal him when he uses his blessing too much?”
“Because he means a lot to me, Jenay.”
“As much as me?”
There was something wrong with those voices. Some emotion that shouldn’t be there. Thinking was so hard, like each thought was pushing out through a fog.
A muted sound, like a smack.
“Jenay, of course you’re more important to me. But Alex and I have been together for a year. I owe him a lot.”
“Isaac, he nearly killed you! If he wasn’t such a strong Tranquilus, he wouldn’t have been able to bring you back long enough for me to save you.”
“Jenay, you said he did more than just keep me stable. Now you’re just being catty. And besides, if he hadn’t been such a strong Tranquilus, he wouldn’t have been able to hurt me.”
The more he heard, the more Alexander was convinced something was terribly wrong. Who was Jenay? Why did that name sound so familiar?
“Isaac, do you love him? Or me?”
Isaac hesitated for a long, long time, and then said “I’m not sure.” But the harsh vibration of a lie burned against Alexander’s ears, and he suddenly understood what was so wrong.
Jenay was Isaac’s mistress, or ladylove, or whatever. Alexander wasn’t anything but a plaything. No wonder he’d been so distant lately.
Alexander forced his eyes open. He saw Isaac, sitting at the table with his head in his hands, his skin still pale, though not with a deadly pallor. He also saw the blond Kosmima gemsmith that had been hanging around Life Support lately.
“Tell her the truth, Isaac,” he said, his voice gravelly and rough – from all the screaming, he remembered. Isaac and Jenay’s heads both jerked around toward him. He struggled to his feet. Isaac made a move to help him, but Jenay shot him a venomous look and he sat back down.
Alexander, supporting his weight on the counter next to him, glared at both of them. “Tell her the truth,” he repeated. “Do you love her, or me?”
Isaac looked imploringly at him. “I did love you, Alexander, it just…it’s not you, it’s me!”
The all-too-cliché sentiment buzzed in Alexander’s hearing. “Liar,” he said, his crow-harsh voice mocking. “Sun’s shining. You can’t hide behind storms anymore.”
“I know what the problem was,” Jenay burst out. She was a head shorter than Alexander, with blond hair cut close to her scalp, floating away in a feathery cut. She had watery blue eyes that were full of contempt, and her skin was flushed with anger, making her few freckles stand out. “You mope around any time there’s a cloud in the sky because you’re such a bad investigator you can’t figure out who stole Mama’s cookies without using your blessing! And Atmos keep the sky clear, since a hint of a storm makes you a sobbing wreck! It’s no wonder Isaac looked for a woman, you’d certainly have turned me off of men!” Her words rang with sincerity, and no extra vibration reached Alexander’s ears. He turned his gaze to Isaac, who just stared at the tabletop.
“Fine,” Alexander said tonelessly. “I’m too tired to fight anymore. I’ll be out of your inn in a few days.” He walked slowly to the door, determined to keep his back straight until he could rest somewhere Isaac couldn’t see him.
Jenay twinkled her fingers at him, and he saw a white and pink flash come from a ring on her finger. He felt a fizz of energy bolster him, wiping away some of his dizziness. He ignored her condescending smirk and stalked out.
He slammed the door behind him, and stood on the landing for a moment, letting the sunshine soak into his skin. The street was still soaked, and signs of the storm’s fury were everywhere: tree branches broken, signs hanging loose, awnings torn. Alexander’s own sign had been torn clean off its mount and was wedged between two of the staircase railing legs.
Alexander ignored all of that, letting the sun’s rays fill the hole in his heart. Not that they really could, but he did feel better for the basking. He looked down at the street and a flash of sunlight on a puddle caught his eye. He looked into the flashes, and saw a picture form. He closed his eyes, letting it show clearly on the inside of his eyelids. It was his longtime rival-slash-friend, Andrea. He saw her speaking to someone, anger sparkling in her eyes and impatience clear on her face.
Alexander opened his eyes and the vision was gone. He knew some scryers who could summon a vision and hear sound, or show a vision to someone else. Advanced seers like that used flame, or ice, or sometimes smoke to hold their visions. Alexander could only capture brief images in water, and then only rarely, on completely clear days.
As he walked down the stairway, he resolved to go to the temple and seek out some training. He knew he had a lot of potential, but he’d been so good at truthfinding his whole life he’d never bothered to learn any of the other, more advanced things he could do.
But first, he needed to find Andrea. She’d always offered to teach him how to be a real investigator, and he’d need a better income now that he was going to have to find a new place to live.
He knew where Andrea kept her office, and set off that way, to one of the middle levels of the city. As he walked, he kept to the far edges of the streets, knowing he couldn’t move quickly, staying out of others’ way.
He saw a Kosmima tower on his right, and on a whim went inside. While the sunlight and warmth of the morning had been fortifying him, he knew he was still on weak legs and should avoid a long walk across the city.
The darkness inside the transit station was a significant transition. It was cooler, and Alexander felt all his aches and soreness magnify. His breath abruptly started coming more quickly, and he sagged against the doorframe, half in and half out of the tower.
The clerk at the payment desk looked at him, alarm on his face, and scurried over, removing a necklace as he walked. When he reached Alexander, he slid the necklace – an onyx stone on a silver chain – around Alexander’s neck.
Immediately, Alexander felt a chill, and his aches grew worse. But the clerk stepped back and made a sign with his hands. The onyx around Alexander’s neck began to glow, and fizzling energy filled his veins. He felt pressure, as if he was being filled with air. It increased; as he felt more and more invigorated, the pressure built until it became painful.
The instant that first flash of pain hit him, the onyx stone on the pendant shattered explosively. Shards dug into his chest, and the clerk suffered a cut across his cheek. He didn’t seem to notice, instead kneeling next to Alexander, who still felt like he had sparkling wine instead of blood.
“Are you all right, young man?” the clerk asked. He was an elderly fellow, with the signet of a full Kosmima adepthood on his overrobe. “You’ve got quite the resistance to gemhealing built up. I hope I didn’t do you harm.”
“I’m fine,” Alexander gasped. He noticed his fingertips were glowing, and focused. Instead of putting them out, he let the energy spill out, and wove the strands of light into a small orb, letting it float up until it reached about a head above eye level. “I did need help, so thank you. I received a gemhealing just this morning.”
“That explains the way you were resisting,” the clerk said, nodding sagely. “It’s worst for a few hours after a gemhealing. Where are you headed, young man?”
“The Constabulary, on the Third Ring,” Alexander told him, reaching into his pocket for a few coins.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” the clerk told him. “I almost killed you, the least I can do is cover your transit.”
Alexander, never one to turn down something free, shrugged and followed the clerk over to his desk. He dug through his card catalogue, eventually finding the destination card he sought. He handed the card to Alexander. “Have a safe journey!”
Alexander took the card with a smile and a nod. On his way into the main transit room, he waved a hand and conjured a second light, this one bobbing above the door he entered, brightening the room considerably.
The transit room was small, with only two dishes. Fortunately for Alexander, this time of morning the room was empty and he walked straight up to the nearest attendant, a pleasant looking young lady with bright green eyes. She took his folder, glanced at his face, and started giggling. Alexander looked at her, confused, but she just motioned him into the transit circle.
He took his place, still staring at the girl. She rolled her eyes at him, gave him the safety speech, and activated the dishes. With a rock, he felt himself falling, hurtling downward. He opened his mouth to scream, but there was nothing but the darkness around him.
He landed with a hugely jarring impact. He expected to tumble to the ground, but he was standing quite naturally in a receptor circle. His mind was reeling, but his body seemed none the worse for wear. No one around him seemed to have noticed anything strange, and a Kosmima attendant was urging him out of the circle with a frown on his face.
Alexander walked out of the circle, expecting to stumble so much he nearly did. The juxtaposition of his mind being so completely rattled while his body was so ready for action was deeply unsettling. What had that damn Kosmima girl done to him?
He was out the door in a flash, striding quickly while his mind struggled to catch up. His ears had stopped ringing, and the confusions had started to fade. He found himself marching toward the Constabulary. He started thinking about what to say to Andrea. He didn’t want to come on too strong, but he also didn’t want to play the pity card. Although he would if he had to; getting an income of some sort was his priority right now.
The Constabulary was about four blocks down from the transit station. He knew they had their own station, but it was for officers only. Civilians were not allowed to use it.
While he ruminated, he heard sounds of a scuffle. He was next to a Fytevo nursery, a business that sold plants, vegetables, flowers, and fruits that had been raised by men and women with a Godfen-given affinity with plants. From inside, shouts began to rise.
A figure darted out from the nursery and crashed into Alexander. With his reflexes still sharp form the gemhealing, he was quick enough to throw up a shield around both of them, and then another one around the escaping figure.
The person stamped one foot and slammed an open palm into Alexander’s shield. Golden yellow and blue white sparks flared, and Alexander had to throw a sudden burst of energy into the shield to keep it intact. He dropped the outer one, focusing on keeping his captive. His shield was a blurry, blue-white half-sphere that bent light, so he couldn’t get a good look, even to tell if he was holding a man or a woman.
A green blur whooshed out of the nursery, then screeched to a halt. It was Andrea, and she was clearly angry. Her hair had flared bright red, and her fists were covered in wicked green spines. When he looked at her from the corner of his eye, or when light reflected from her eyes or the shiny buttons on her vest, he could see a pink aura of drifting rose petals.
“Cartwright!” she snapped. “Terros help you if you let my thief get away!”
Alexander opened his mouth, and at that moment his captive struck. This time, brilliant golden cracks shot through his shield and it shattered. The backlash hit Alexander, a feeling like he’d been holding a taut rope that was suddenly cut, and he stumbled backward. The surge of energy inside him was starting to dim, but he was still alert enough to throw a confusion burst toward his now-freed captive.
It was much too warm for his wave of disorientation to have any serious effect. The rogue, who Alexander could now see was a woman, only stumbled for a moment.
That moment was enough time for Andrea to strike. She turned again into a green blur, and abruptly intersected with the escaping woman. There was a flash of pink light, and suddenly Andrea was standing over and unconscious figure.
“Can you put another shield up over her?” Andrea asked. “She won’t stay down long.”
Alexander wordlessly extended a hand, and a blurry dome spread over the thief’s body, obscuring her from view.
“It would be best if you could separate her from the ground,” Andrea added, looking intently at him, for all the world like they were having a normal conversation over tea rather than apprehending a criminal. Alexander looked back at her, though he kept his concentration on his shield.
“It’s too warm for me to lift her,” her replied. “And I can’t slide a shield under her, the earth interferes.”
Andrea shrugged. “It was worth a try. Hold her while I get help.” She vanished in another blur of green. Alexander made a mental note to find out how she was doing that; speed usually was a Ventus effect, not one someone with a modest Fytevo blessing like Andrea could duplicate. He knew Andrea couldn’t be drawing speed from the earth; she could barely make a rock shiver.
While he was woolgathering, his shield rippled. On a bright, sunny day like this, with only one large cloud to the west, he could have held a shield against a fully powered Petra. The girl had only escaped before because he was distracted. The rippling meant his shield had achieved fluidity, a rare state brought on by perfect conditions that gave a shield unusual flexibility and resilience.
A yellow burst against the shield told him that the girl was awake. Alexander set himself, widening his stance and extending his hand toward his shield. He was really feeling all this energy loss, but at least he was out in the sunlight. More yellow light shone through his shield, which buckled and flexed, riding the assaults out rather than resisting them outright. Alexander grinned, proud that he’d achieved a good enough shield for it to go fluid. Maybe he wasn’t such a poor Tranquilus after all.
Three men and Andrea came out of the Constabulary, walking quickly down the street to where Alexander stood. The brief scuffle had cleared out a wide space, and even now foot traffic was giving Alexander – and the nursery – a wide berth.
When Andrea reached him, he noted with relief her Fytevo mods had fallen away, leaving her thornless and blond again. “Thank you for your help, Cartwright,” she told him, reaching out a hand to shake his. “I couldn’t have nailed this one if you hadn’t stopped her.”
Alexander waited for the blue-jacketed detective, a Tranquilus adept, to throw his own shield around Alexander’s. He released his inner shield, though it would stay up until someone broke through it. Another benefit of fluid shields.
Once his attention was free, he shook Andrea’s hand. “It’s lucky I got here when I did, because I needed to talk to you anyway,” he told her.
“Why don’t we go in my office?” she offered. He nodded, and followed her down the street.
“So who was that?” he asked as they walked.
“A silk thief, if you can believe it,” she told him. “She’s been breaking into clothing shops and rich homes and stealing silk, of all things! It’s not like it’s that rare! She’s a powerful Petra, you might have noticed, and she just melts any walls in her way and erases any tracks she leaves.”
Alexander whistled. “How’d you catch her? Did somebody see her?”
“She’s been leaving lotus petals as a signature,” Andrea told him. “Hold on a moment.” They had reached the main door to the Constabulary. Andrea flashed her badge, a trinket of tiny opal, ruby, and topaz chips set in bronze. It sparkled, and the granite door, with a larger version of her badge trinket set where a knob would be, swung open.
“Anyway, we tracked down where she’s been buying the lotuses and set a trap for her,” Andrea continued. “She still almost escaped. She’s damn strong, threw me clear through a display case.” A wicked grin spread across Andrea’s face as they entered her small office. “Too bad for her she threw me into rosebushes and the flytrap shelf.” When Alexander looked quizzically at her, she explained. “Roses let me borrow thorns and sleep pollen. Flytraps let me borrow speed.”
“Oh!” Alexander exclaimed. “I was wondering about that.”
“Trade secret, keep your lip shut,” she said, gesturing for him to sit. She had one cramped chair in front of her desk, which Alexander took gratefully. The Constabulary wasn’t much cooler than outside, but he was still starting to wear down. He needed to eat something soon.
“So what did you need, Cartwright?” Andrea asked, folding her hands on her desk and leaning toward him. “Finally here to ask for a job?”
“Actually, yes,” Alexander said. He’d startled her; she leaned back eyebrows high and eyes wide. “I’m being forced to move, and I need a more stable income than freelancing can give me.” He refused to cry, but thinking of the situation with Isaac brought him perilously close.
“I thought you were living with–” a glance at Alexander’s face stopped her question cold. She paused for a moment.
“I know I can’t join as a full detective. I just need–”
“You’ve got, what, a year and a half experience as a PI?” Andrea interrupted. Alexander nodded. “Well, I can write that off as a year’s training, get you partnered as a rookie. You’ll need to go into advanced training, though. I know you’re decent with your Tranquilus, but my detectives can use every particle of their gifts.”
Alexander grinned. “That was my next question. I need a lot of help with my blessing.”
Andrea stood and reached across her desk. Alexander followed suit, and shook her hand.
“I look forward to working with you, Detective Fields,” he told her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at dawn, rookie,” she replied, smirking. “We need to get you into shape!”
Alexander’s grin became a little forced, but he managed to take his leave of Andrea without embarrassing himself.
***
Wakefulness for Devon had become an exercise in self-motivation. His very first thought upon waking was always the hope that his life was a nightmare. Then he’d feel the ropes of the hammock digging into his skin, and Abram’s huge, hairy arms wrapped around him, and smell the sea-salt air, and realize it was all too real.
At first, it hadn’t been too bad. He still hadn’t figured out how to purify salt water, even though at this point he was so attuned to it he could tell freshwater from salt at a glance. Feeling the salt wasn’t enough; he had to draw it out of the water, and he couldn’t focus his control enough to move the tiny particles. Abram had been sharing water with him, and the fruit he was allowed to eat kept him going, but his lips were constantly cracked and bleeding and his joints felt like they were made of cheap wood.
And then there was the situation with Abram. He was wildly attracted to the man at first, and the first time they’d slept together had been glorious. But immediately after, Abram had gone to sleep and Devon had stayed up all night fighting completely irrational guilt. He had no idea why – neither of them were cheating, it was definitely consensual, and it had been great. But Devon couldn’t stop the idea that what they were doing was just wrong, somehow.
The map-questing they did more and more often was exhausting, and every time they did it Devon just wanted to pass out. Abram, however, had the opposite reaction: he was invigorated, and always wanted to drag Devon into a corner, put up his sight and sound screen, and ravish Devon. And every time, Devon let him. It wasn’t rape, Devon liked it, and he liked Abram. He never said no, even though he hated watching while people walked by when Abram’s mouth was all over him, his tongue igniting a fire in Devon’s exhausted mind and body, even if they had no idea what was going on a few feet away.
Part of the exhaustion, he knew, was being so far away from land. He couldn’t draw on anything on the boat for strength, and there was a big difference between “not depending on something” and “not having it as an option”. Abram, of course, thrived in the warmth of the open ocean, his blessing letting him draw endurance and stamina from heat.
Devon forced his eyes open. Today, he’d figure out the saltwater. He knew there was something incredibly simple he was missing. The captain wouldn’t tolerate him doing nothing, but he seemed fine with Devon spending hours running power through a bucket of seawater, or helping Abram refine their route in the charm circle.
Devon wriggled, loosening Abram’s grip on him. The sailor mumbled and shifted, giving Devon the chance to slide out of the hammock. Getting out without dumping Abram was a challenge, but the week that had passed has provided a lot of practice.
As he padded silently across the pre-dawn, still deck, he felt a flare of energy to the northeast. His gaze swiveled to fix on the source. His hours of focus on the microscopic salt particles had really honed his senses, and he’d noticed he could feel the four Terros sailors when they exercised their blessings. He thought he could even detect different facets, but he still wasn’t good enough to be sure he wasn’t lucky when he guessed.
Squinting through the misty stillness, he saw Tiercel was doing something to a metal brace on one of the railings. Devon walked over, careful to make enough noise to not surprise the crotchety man, but not so much he woke any of the sleeping crew draped all around the ship.
Closer, he could see Tiercel was trying to dislodge a white, crystalline buildup. Devon could sense it was salt from several feet away.
“Blasted rocks,” Tiercel grumbled. “Stubborn as Atmos’s temper.” Power flared around him, looking to Devon like a mantle of shimmering gold flapping in a silent wind. Streamers of golden light struck the salt buildup and skidded, spiraling crazily and fading.
“Can I help?” Devon offered, staying a careful pace back from Tiercel.
The Petra light guttered out, and Tiercel turned. “Well, I sure as hell can’t crack it off,” he grumbled. “Damn crap is glued on or sommat. Ain’t seen nothin’ like it.”
Devon sent his own power into the salt. His new familiarity with the compound felt like sinking into a favorite chair, knowing exactly how to avoid the sharpest springs. He flexed and twisted, and the salt crystals shattered into a million flakes. Belatedly, Devon tried to capture the particles, hoping it would be easier in air, but his power was like a coarse net and the salt tiny, nimble fish slipping through the openings.
“How did the salt get on this brace, anyway?” Devon asked, withdrawing his power. He’d gotten very good at tight control and release, but his general weariness made any use of his blessing a real effort. He noticed there was still a thin layer of salt on the metal. Frowning, he slid a thread or power back into it, encountering a surprising resistance.
“I was in the middle o’ chantin’ that brace and a wave hit it,” Tiercel said grudgingly. Devon had figured out that the sailors often referred to using their blessings on objects as “chanting” them. “The salt just stuck to the metal.”
Devon probed the salt harder, but his blessing slid across a slick barrier, like sliding across ice. He tried his power on the metal. He and Tiercel were opposites when it came to Petra; Tiercel could manipulate metal and make it run like water, but couldn’t impress a handprint in rock, while Devon was adept at reshaping any mineral, but was confused and frustrated by the strange rigidity of metal.
Something about this brace was sticky. As he sank power into the metal, he felt the echo of what Tiercel had done to it. To strengthen an invisible flaw, he’d been convincing the metal to bind itself together. When the wave had slopped up and covered the brace, that artificial stickiness had bled into the water.
Devon’s breath caught, and he jerked back from the railing. Without saying a word to Tiercel, he turned and ran off, barely sparing a thought to let a whisper of power into the wooden deck, deadening his footfalls. He didn’t hear Tiercel grumble about “Atmos-headed city folk, ain’t got time to say a word to a body…”
Devon found the swab bucket he’d been using. The power he’d accidentally invested into the steel was still there, though it was quiescent and directionless at the moment. He grabbed the bucket’s rope, tied it around the handle, and tossed the whole thing over the side. When it hit the water, he let it sink and fill before hauling it back up. The rope, woven of hemp, seemed to feel his urgency and move easily through his blistered and sensitive hands. Once he had the bucket up, he settled down and went into his now familiar trance.
Rather than sending his power floating into the water, which was much like reaching into a bucket of gelatin and trying to fish out a needle, he tapped into the latent energy hiding in the bucket itself. Sticky, he thought. Stick to the salt!
The metal fought him, not wanting to change. With his power living in it for so long, though, he didn’t have the usual difficulty imposing his will on it. It was actually very similar to working with difficult rock like pumice, an intractable and recalcitrant rock. He bent his will on the steel, and felt the metal shudder before obeying his instructions.
The outside of the bucket began to glow, and golden Petra glyphs began to shine softly on its gold sparkled in the water and began to drift to the bottom, sticking to the glyph, a rounded and shiny stalagmite.
Soon, a white crystal began to grow on the bucket’s bottom. Devon came out of his trance, and the brilliance of the glyphs faded to a dull shine. He could see the salt crystal growing, though, and a quick dip of his finger told him a layer of salt free water had already formed and was rapidly growing. He bent his head and tasted the water. There was still a hint of brackish taste, but it was fresh. He’d done it.
At that moment, the sun broke over the horizon. On the sea, that was a fantastic phenomenon, and a quick one. However, this morning the eastern sky was a bloody scarlet. Above him, he heard the crow’s nest watch begin to call out.
“Storm ahead! All hands! Storm to the southeast!”
All around him, sailors sprang to life as if they’d been lying awake. Devon was surrounded by a flurry of action and suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.
It was Abram. A grin cracked the man’s face. “Time to earn your keep,” he said, hauling Devon up and toward the charm circle. Devon barely had time to slide his bucket into a somewhat secure nook and let Abram tug him away.
As they hurried across the deck, Devon saw the full glory of the First Storm for the first time. He’d experienced it in visions, of course, but seeing it in person was completely different. While he was using the charm circle, the lightning that crackled constantly throughout the rotating clouds was remote, if powerful. Now that he could see it with his own eyes, he realized that straying too close to the storm – a distance measurable in miles – one of those tendrils of lightning could rip the ship into a thousand pieces.
A breeze hit them, startling after a week spent riding at the wind’s speed. Devon heard Abram whoop, and suddenly they were flying through the air. Devon started to scream, but their sudden flight had robbed the breath from his lungs.
Abram twisted in the air, and Devon found himself cradled under him, their legs tangled together. Abram’s powerful arms wrapped around him, giving their flight a sense of stability. Devon abruptly began to enjoy the flight, with Abram’s heady, musky scent filling his nose and his heartbeat thudding steadily at his back. But almost as soon as it had started, they descended, landing next to the charm circle.
“Damn, it feels good to fly!” Abram said, releasing Devon as they landed. “Hasn’t been a cloud in the sky since we left Port Nanfula. I missed the sky!” He laughed, apparently full of a childish joy now that he could fly again. “Why don’t you hop in that circle so we can keep our course straight?” he suggested, pointing.
Devon silently stepped into the southern lobe of the charm circle. He had figured out by now that the circle was combining his map lore with Abram’s windfinding to chart the quickest course, and it meant sailing into the First Storm further than anyone on the ship ever had. He was completely on board with preventing their ugly deaths, but he was still tired and the charm circle was exhausting to use. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing, hoping meditation would slow down how fast his energy burned away.
He felt the circle hum to life as Abram invested it with power, and the tub on his heart that meant his map lore was fusing with the circle and Abram. But whether it was the meditation or their proximity to the Storm and, by extension, the Needle, it wasn’t as draining as normal.
He kept his eyes closed, and lowered himself to a sitting position. He heard Abram calling out, though the instructions he gave were meaningless. An idea popped into his head – if the charm circle could magnify the windfinding and the map lore as much as it had, maybe it could extend his earth sensing range? How deep was the ocean, anyway?
He felt his map lore, wrapped up in the charm circle and spiraling around Abram. He put part of his attention on it, and sent the rest reaching for rock or earth. Normally, he couldn’t draw strength from anything more than a foot or so away. But as he reached out, he felt the circle surge up around him, and suddenly he could sense stone.
It was far beneath him, and when he cast a mental ‘hand’ down, his reach was barely short. There were countless sparkles of salt between him and the ocean floor, and every one he reached through absorbed part of his power, shortening his range by a fraction.
He withdrew his probe, and noticed the salt was loathe to let him go. In fact, the sparkles seemed to be growing larger. He narrowed his focus, concentrating on only the million or so salt flakes around the ship.
Slowly at first, then faster, the salt began to concentrate as well. Soon, he had drawn a small crystal of salt together and fused it to the ship’s bottom. He put a spark of power into it, and then sent his awareness leaping down.
Again, he fell short. He shaped the end of his power thread into an orb, and fiercely thought of it as sticky. Again, salt particles rushed in, forming a tiny salt crystal in an eyeblink.
He put another spark of Petra power in the new crystal, and a strange feeling washed over him. HE felt like his body was in two places; he could feel his arms resting in his lap, but only distantly, like they were a hundred miles away. At the same time, his torso was filled with exciting tingles. He felt his power in the salt crystal flex, and leap down again.
This time, he hit the ocean floor. Strength rushed through him in a flood, and he drew greedily, hoping to finally banish the feeling of exhaustion that had plagued him since the ship had left the dock.
But he realized he didn’t’ actually feel better. Instead, the power had rushed into the salt crystal about halfway between the ship and the ocean floor. He could feel it growing, sucking the salt from the water around it in an effort to contain he rush of power filling it.
Devon shifted his attention to the crystal, and felt his connection to the ocean floor slacken. The salt crystal immediately ceased growing as Devon lost his grip on the rocky ocean floor. He fumbled for a second, trying to reconnect to the power, but he had lost it and he felt like he was throwing darts, blindfolded and drunk.
“-von”
“-p lore, it’s g-”
“-can’t close the cir-”
Devon’s power curled around the bottom salt crystal, tethered to his physical body by a thin, shining thread of gold. Voices and a loud, hissing shriek had filled his thoughts, blotting out his senses with a roaring flood of white noise. He floated, dazed.
When he paused for a moment, he noticed the now several inch wide salt crystal was sparkling with golden energy. He wasn’t really sure how that was possible, since crystals normally could only store silver Kosmima energy, but he thought if he could get that crystal up to his body, eh could drain off that extra Petra power.
He tugged on the sparkling cord, and was rewarded with a bob of the crystal. He began to put a steady pressure on the thin connection, and felt his salt crystal start to rise. He kept his rate of ascent steady, and as the part of his mind that was underwater drew closer to the surface, he started to hear flashes of voices and that whining roar more frequently.
“-t get in! It’s like a wall! Can y-”
“-e’s glowing!”
“-eed to know how close we are to the sto-”
Devon ignored the voices. He didn’t really comprehend what they were saying, or where they were coming from. He only cared about keeping that salt crystal moving toward his body.
Suddenly, an icy black knife seared through him. He couldn’t scream, but he involuntarily shot upward, leaving his crystal behind.
For one horrible second, he fell into a black abyss, and the only sensation was one of intense pressure. He was being pressed into an impenetrable wall, and he was sure he was going to become a smear of Devon-colored paste, if there had been any color other than blackness.
There was an awful –pop–
-rip-
-squish-
-gasp-
Devon sat up with a wretched gasp, and a fit of coughing ripped through his chest and throat. He was sitting on the deck, and he curled into a tiny ball, hoping to alleviate the awful, empty feeling inside him. He was so cold.
“Get Tiercel, we need an onyx!”
“Is he dying? Pneumonia?”
“Get this damn barrier down, Sandos!”
All around him people were yelling and power was humming. He was focused on nothing but sneaking in breaths between his endless coughs and trying to feel some warmth in his torso.
There was a loud crack, a sound like shattering glass, and warmth was suddenly bathing him. He shuddered and uncoiled. But the warmth was fleeting. It was gone after a moment, and he twitched. A fragment of it stuck in his chest, and he found the strength to open his eyes.
Abram, Tiercel, and the Captain were standing over him. Tiercel was holding a small black stone, and had his eyes tightly closed. The captain and Abram were both gripping Tiercel’s arms, and all three of them had glyphs glowing: Tiercel’s Kosmima glyph on the back of his right hand, the captain’s Tranquilus glyph over his left eyebrow, and Abram’s Thermas glyph on his wrist.
The onyx in Tiercel’s hands flashed, and another wave of warmth filled Devon. This time, it seemed to stick better, and Devon felt himself change from death warmed over to merely feeble and sickly. He tried to think about what an onyx would do with a Kosmima blessing invoked, but very quickly realized all he wanted to do was lie on the deck and absorb whatever warmth he could from stone and sun.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had a landsick sailor,” the captain remarked. “Tiercel, ye didn’t have this, did ye?”
The onyx flickered and died again, leaving Devon a little colder. “Nah, Captain. I cain’t pull but a whisper o’ power outta rocks, so I never got m’self hooked like most o’them Terros do. This kid lasted a week afore the sickness got’m, so he prob’ly din’t’ use it as much, neither.”
“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” Devon groaned. Even that was a herculean effort.
“Sailors almost never have Terros blessin’s because their bodies get sued to getting extra strength from the earth,” Abram explained. “Atmos sailors have it lucky, ‘cuz the sun is everywhere. I get the shakes anytime I go up north, though.”
Devon processed this. A third wave of energy came from the onyx, and he felt like he could think again. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then a horrible thought stuck him. “The Storm! We must be sailing straight into it!”
Abram let out one of his full-throated guffaws, though the captain did not look amused.
“We cleared the storm hours ago, but whatever you did with the charm circle kept both of us fenced in ‘til you were done.” He took a breath, and Devon was sure he was going to keep asking questions, when the captain interrupted.
“If we’re done wastin’ all our blessin’s on this land rat,” he said sourly. “Sandos, I need ye to get up there and fix the riggin’, there was a wee problem with a fire. Tiercel, ye need to take a look at our sapphire mounts, they’re gettin’ a bit tarnished.” Without a word to Devon, he stalked off toward the ship’s wheel. Abram slapped Tiercel on the shoulder and leapt up, his blessing carrying him up into the rigging. Tiercel scowled down at Devon, fished in his pocket, and pulled out a dull gray stone. He set it down next to Devon.
“Don’t ye lose that!” the salty man hissed at Devon, before ambling off. Devon picked up the chunk of granite and let out a long, relieved breath. One small piece of stone wouldn’t let him draw out any power, but just holding it eased the ache and the bitter cold he was feeling. He was content to curl up inside the charm circle around the stone, not even worried about being in the way of any sailors.
***
“Get your shield up!”
Alexander threw up his right hand behind him, fingers splayed, and projected a shield. His left hand was busy holding off a searing fireball. He knew his hasty shield was flimsy, and the burst of kinetic energy that came immediately on the heels of the shout shattered the thin barrier and swept his feet out from under him. Alexander let himself fall, and released his tenuous hold on the fireball, which rocketed back toward the assailant.
If he’d learned anything, it was that he couldn’t remain in one place. Even though every muscle screamed at him, Alexander rolled and got to his feet, twisting some light into an illusion of himself that mirrored his actions, going the opposite direction.
He turned to see where his attacker was. The grizzled old man had just caught the fireball and was turning it into a glowing orb that Alexander knew could shatter his bones with just a glancing blow.
The room he was in was a huge warehouse. Each wall faced a cardinal direction, and had a likeness of the appropriate facet of Atmos picked out in chips of colored stone. Alexander sprinted for the southern wall, directly away from the relentless old man. As he ran, the wall began to glow a deep indigo and he felt the air temperature begin to drop.
Once he’d reached the wall, he spun and put both hands up, projecting a shield as well as he could. Tranquilus shields manifested uniquely to each individual, and Alexander’s were shimmery domes. While his shield stabilized, he used the cold radiating from the wall to power a bolt of confusion, an indigo ray that shot toward his attacker.
The confusion bolt splashed off the old man’s own shield, a barely visible turbulence in the air, like heat shimmer. He had allowed his force blast to dissipate, and was watching Alexander with an expression that said nothing so much as “really?”
Alexander didn’t let his shield drop; he’d fallen for that trick already and had a large bruise spreading across his ribs to prove it. He did drop his defensive stance, letting his left hand fall to his side and moving his feet closer together.
“Better,” the old man announced. “But you still depend on these ridiculous theatrics for your shields. Sometimes your hands are busy!” Alexander let the shield dissolve into a myriad of blue-white sparks. The old man continued critiquing his performance. “The mirror illusion was a good idea, but not convincing. You need to practice that one so you can make a good copy without needing any prep time! And that fireball resolution was shameful!”
“I can’t even light a candle on a sunny day in summer,” Alexander protested. “How am I supposed to dissolve a fireball a real Thermas throws at me?”
“Practice,” the old man, whose name was Joaquin, told him, grinning wickedly. His job was to get Alexander ready for street fighting, and he relished getting to abuse his charge. “You’ve got raw power dripping out your ears, boy. You just need to learn how to use it. Watch.”
Moving faster than anyone his age had a right to, Joaquin pulled a tongue of flame from one of the torches burning merrily on the walls. He shaped it into an orb, and infused it with red light, which would make it a concussive as well as fiery blast.
“Now, if you’re a strong Thermas, you can just unwind the orb and it’ll fall apart,” he explained. He swung an index finger around in a swirling motion, and the fireball uncurled into sparks that quickly faded. “But you’re not. So improvise!”
In a flash, he’d put together three new fireblasts. One he hit with a small gust of wind, making it lose integrity and fall apart. The second he wrapped in a shimmer of light, and it quickly faded as he cut off its air. The last fireblast, he threw a handful of indigo sparks into. The sparks burst when they hit the flames, eroding it away.
“Even a very weak blessing can overcome a powerful one with enough ingenuity,” Joaquin observed. “Think about it. Go outside, get some sunshine and some lunch. Come back here in two hours and we’ll work some more.”
Alexander stifled the retort he wanted to make and bowed his head to the trainer before leaving the warehouse. The door was in the wall dedicated to Godfen Algidus. The aspect that governed ice, snow, and the cold of night had no sex; hir face was slender and angular, with thin lips. Xie had no hair, eyebrows, or eyelashes. Xie was wearing indigo robes that were loose enough to obscure hir body type, but not so loose that they were baggy and ugly. The mosaic was still emitting a soft, indigo glow and Alexander could feel the chill coming off the chips of stone as he passed through the door.
The warehouse was on the same street as Andrea’s Constabulary. The detectives and peace officers all used it and its Terros twin to keep their street fighting reflexes honed. Each mosaic was somehow rigged to generate conditions that would power an Atmos blessing. The Terros building was divided into quadrants. One had a rocky, earthen floor with lots of metal fencing, one was littered with gemstones, one was a wildly overgrown garden. The fourth was simply padded, since a Panida blessing worked almost entirely inside a person, unless they were communicating with an animal.
Alexander had arrived at the Constabulary early that morning, the day after he’d spoken with Andrea. He’d expected to sit in a classroom, perhaps work with a priest of Atmos.
Instead, Andrea had told him to go into the warehouse next door and do whatever Joaquin told him. They’d started with a mile-long run, which Alexander barely finished, then gone on to lifting weighted poles. The sweltering heat that had followed the huge storms strengthened Alexander’s endurance and stamina, but he still could not lift the bar with a single pair of weighted discs. Joaquin had not mocked him for that, but he’d been merciless in driving Alexander to his very limit.
Then they’d begun dueling. Blessing duels were frowned upon by priests, but they were not technically illegal, and some people made a good living traveling from city to city and competing in dueling tournaments. Alexander suspected that Joaquin was a champion duelist. The old man moved like water, and even though his only real strength was Thermas, and that not notably strong, he knew every inch of what he could accomplish and could combine forces on the fly in ways that Alexander hadn’t even known were possible.
Alexander began walking toward the temple of Atmos. The marble structure mimicked the Eye and Needle, though it was only about a third the size. It still towered over the town, and Alexander had a friend there who might be able to help him find a place to live. As he walked, he tried to project an extremely light shield around himself. Joaquin had showed him the trick; while a shield strong enough to stop attacks cold would keep him anchored in one place and very visible, a soap-bubble thin layer of protection could save his life and would move with him. People walking through it would feel a gentle push, but wouldn’t be hurt.
It was much easier said than done, though. Alexander was very used to throwing shileds with his hands, and absolutely could not throw a shield light enough to move with him.
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