To project the light shield required a kind of concentration Joaquin promised he could master, but Alexander absolutely could not figure it out.
After the third time he was so wrapped up in trying to create the shield he walked right into an innocent passerby, he gave up. Instead, he focused no his hearing; on a clear day he could not only amplify it, but also listen for specific sounds. He felt a burning on his earlobes as his blessing became alert for the sound of a bowstring, a dagger slipping its sheath, the crackle of a lightning bolt, or a scream.
The much simpler application of his blessing he could trust without constant concentration. He began paying attention to his surroundings, He was walking down a market street; in the buildings around him, wares like clothing and trinkets were displayed ostentatiously. He glanced up, checking the position of the Temple, and continued walking.
He passed another trinket shop, and nearly stopped dead. Jenay, the bitch Isaac had cheated on him with, was standing at the counter, demonstrating a trinket for a customer. Rage flooded through Alexander, and he felt himself drawing in power. He didn’t even know what he would do with Tranquilus energy, but his face was thumping with blood and he had to do something.
He was reaching out to weave light and shadow into an illusion of a sudden fire when his ears burned and he heard the thwap! Of an arrow and a woman’s scream, carried to him by his blessing. He let go of his illusion, which roared up for an instant before dissolving, drawing yelp from a customer standing near it.
Alexander pushed all the power he’d gathered into a tough shield and spun around, white light flaring around his hands as he looked for an assailant.
But instead of seeing an archer, or deflecting an arrow, he was met with a much worse scene. Between two buildings, he had a good view of the bowl of Zydobe. He could therefore see the airship laboring over the harbor. White smoke was billowing out of one side, and half the craft was on fire. The ship was hurtling straight for the docks, at least a mile from where Alexander stood.
Without thinking, Alexander dropped his personal shield and hurled energy toward the ship, hoping to deflect or slow it. The sun was shining much too brightly and the temperature was too high for him to attempt another Algidus working. He saw his shield begin to spread under the hull of the airship. Once the ship impacted his shield, it exploded into a blaze of blue-white light. The ship actually bounced¸ arcing upward for a moment. Alexander felt the dramatic destruction at his attempt to help like getting slapped in the face by a hand the size of the world. One second, he was watching power stream swiftly toward the airship, and the next he was lying on his back inside a building, lines of fiery pain all over his back. His vision was blurry, and his ears rang.
“Terros’s balls!” a woman swore. He felt a twinge, and the pain in his back faded a little.
“What in Atmos’s name is going on out there?” the voice asked.
“Airship,” Alexander groaned. There was a gasp, and the sound of footsteps. Alexander levered himself up and sat quietly for a moment. He looked around, and saw that he was in a trinket shop. He looked at the placard hanging on the shop counter next to him and sure enough, there was her name. Jenay Deen, Kosmima Adept and licensed trinket manufacturer. He swore, and forced himself to his feet. Adrenaline rushed through his system, pushing his pain away. He got to his feet and sprinted out the door, taking a moment to enjoy the window he’d apparently smashed through.
The airship was hovering over the docks. It was being held up by a series of blue-white flashes. Alexander realized that everyone with a Tranquilus blessing was trying to slow down the massive ship, rather than doing what Alexander had stupidly tried and stopping it cold. He reached up to help, but the shield he threw fizzled out before he could get it near enough to help.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to help directly, the airship was too far away. What else could he do? He looked to his right, and saw the tower of the Atmos temple. The priests there would be powerful healers, and there would be a transit tower close to the temple. He took off in that direction, ignoring the pain in his back and pushing as hard as he could.
He barreled past citizens staring at the impending disaster, dodging and weaving through crowds. He saw several people attempting to throw shields, but the distance was much too great for a shield to travel. Alexander was really stunned that he’d managed to get one so far away, and could only guess that his gathering of energy had given him the edge he’d needed to extend his range so far.
The Temple grew closer as he pelted down the streets. The neighborhood changed from mercantile to residential, and he started drawing attention as the crowds fell behind him. He ignored shouts and orders for him to stop, focusing only on the Temple and getting there to summon help.
As he got to the block that housed the Temple, he remembered the two hundred steps that led up to the front doors and began to swear – though only mentally, saving his breath for running. He reached the steps and had to pause. He looked up, beginning to wheeze, and saw a priest leaning out of the Eye. Flickers of blue white light fell gracefully from the window, floating down to surround Alexander. When they reached him, he realized with a start he could see the priest’s aural-working, a directed extension of his hearing. He sent a pulse of will through the air between the two of them, so that he could hear the priest.
“My son, what has befallen the harbor?” the priest asked. “WE have only word of dread danger, no details.”
The Temple was even faithful to the original Needle’s lack of windows, Alexander realized, even if it wasn’t made of a single piece of still-living rock. “Another airship has crashed,” he gasped. “There are citizens holding it at bay, but there will still be injuries. Healers will be needed.”
“We shall mobilize at once. Thank you, my son, for the warning. Atmos’s blessings be ever upon you.” White energy swirled around Alexander, soaking into his skin. He felt the wounds on his back mend, and his breathing slowed and steadied. What kind of priest was this, that could work a healing from the topmost platform of the Zydobe Needle?
The front door to the temple, which was the only deviation from the original Needle’s design, burst open and five sky-blue clad priests with the golden trim of high acolytes rushed out, striding past Alexander to the transit tower across the street. Alexander was happy to let them pass, satisfied he’d done his part. He couldn’t see the harbor from the Temple, but he could see a towering column of smoke in that direction. He felt a rush of fear, hoping that it was the ship on fire and not docks or houses.
He turned and walked toward the transit tower. Healing may have closed his wounds, but the longer he ran on borrowed time and energy, the worse he would crash eventually. Even a master Thermas adept needed sleep, and Alexander was flat stunned his meager ability to draw endurance from heat was keeping him going this well.
He reached the tower and started daydreaming about his bed, when a memory hit him – he was supposed to be finding a new place to live. HE smacked his forehead and turned back to the Temple, hoping his friend was still there.
Lenn was a novice, studying to become a priest in time. He had a moderate Algidus gift, and his other blessings were negligible. He was completely uninterested in men or women, and was eager to devote himself to the sexless Godfen. He and Alexander had met during a Temple service, when Alexander had flirted with the thin young man. He still remembered the pity in the sparkling black eyes when Lenn had turned him down. They’d run into each other again at a coffeeshop and Alexander had convinced him to at least have a conversation.
A fond smile crossed Alexander’s face as he reached the foot of the long stairway. He began to climb slowly, taking rest breaks as he needed them. He remembered belatedly that he was supposed to be returning to the Constabulary soon. A glance at the sun’s position told him he still had an hour or so, so he continued up the path.
As he walked, he tried the shield technique again. Every time he’d tried so far, he got no results as he slowly increased the power of the shield he was trying to create until a stationary one popped up around him. Joaquim’s advice about improvising was stuck in his head, and he wanted to try it. He tried to think of the steps he took to generate a shield. First, he felt the innate power in sunlight and still air, a kind of slow, syrupy light. Once he could feel it, he imagined it shaping itself around him in a sphere. The shield wouldn’t form until he invested the Tranquilus power with his own personal energy, and that was the problem he kept running into. Reducing the amount of energy he used clearly would not work. So he’d just have to change an earlier step.
HE let himself become aware of the sunlight, a process that he had instinctively mastered. Where he normally just imposed his will on that power, this time he tried to tease it out, gently imagining it curling around him, while envisioning the very light shield he needed.
He felt power flow out of him, and merge with the Tranquilus energy, but he didn’t sense any kind of result. He sighed and let go of his power. He was nearly to the top of the stairs, maybe he could ask a priest for advice. In his experience, priests were not innovators, but it wasn’t like he knew every single one.
He trudged up the final stair and sank onto a nearby bench. The doors to the temple were simple, but had their own grandeur. The doors were made of wood, and the stone arch containing them had the four glyphs of the facets carved in them, with Atmos’s four-limbed storm glyph at the peak. The doors had large iron rings set in their centers. Around them was a small landing, with abstractly carved benches and two small potted trees. Alexander had only been here a few times, and each time he was struck by how elegant the decorations of the temples of Atmos were.
The main door creaked open, and an indigo-robed figure slipped out. His hood was down, revealing Lenn’s curly black hair and dark skin. Alexander waved and called out to him, catching his attention.
“Lenn! Do you have a moment?”
The novice paused and a wide smile appeared when he recognized Alexander. “Of course, for you, Alexander!” Alexander still found the younger man tragically cute but once he’d figured out that Lenn was literally and totally uninterested in sex or love, they’d become good, if casual, friends.
“How’s Isaac doing?” Lenn asked. Alexander felt his face start to crumple, and while he struggled to keep his composure, the astute Lenn picked up on his distress.
“Oh, no, what happened?” he asked, sitting down next to Alexander and putting a thin arm around his shoulders.
“We…we broke up,” Alexander said, choosing his words carefully. HE didn’t want to break down in the face of Lenn’s sympathy. He’d been grateful for Andrea’s no-nonsense, businesslike reaction. He was sure she felt bad for him, but she didn’t drown him in pity.
Lenn’s sympathy was a little easier to bear, because his sincerity shone through everything he did. It was impossible to interpret the look in his eyes as artificial or condescending, like most pity. He genuinely shared Alexander’s pain, even if he couldn’t feel it himself.
“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry!” Lenn told him. “Weren’t you living together?” Alexander nodded. “Well, then, you have to stay with me until you find a place.” Alexander looked up at Lenn, startled. He knew Lenn had a lot of friends in the inn business, and had only hoped for a point in the right direction.
“Don’t you live here?” he asked, gesturing at the Zydobe Needle.
“Oh, Atmos, no!” Lenn exclaimed. “Only full priests are allowed to sleep on the grounds. I have a few rooms in the city. I have a spare bed that’s ready for you right now. Do you need help moving your things?”
Alexander nodded, struck dumb by this unexpected generosity. Lenn returned the nod firmly. “Well, that’s settled. When should I meet you over there?”
“I think I’m free after about six o’clock,” Alexander said. “I guess meet me at Life Support an hour after that?”
“Done, then,” Lenn said, standing. “Will you be all right? I’m on my way to meet someone, but he can wait if it’s necessary.”
“No, no, please,” Alexander replied, making a shooing gesture. “You’ve done enough. I’ll survive until this evening.”
“All right then,” Lenn said. “Take care of yourself.” He gave Alexander a priestly bow, one hand in a fist and the other palm up on top, and began to walk down the stairs. Alexander looked on, amazed at how incredible some people could be.
*****
Devon’s eyes snapped open. It was another early morning. With a great deal of help from Tiercel and the other three Terros sailors, he no longer felt like a walking corpse. The other sailors were all very strongly gifted with Fytevo, and had negligible abilities with Petra, which explained their ease at leaving the land. Each of them carried a chunk of granite or marble to ease the slight pangs even they felt, and holding the stones had done a great deal to ease his terrible condition.
But now he could sense land. The ill-fated experiment with the charm circle had two unexpected side effects. The first was that he could easily purify water now. He still got the best results by using metal as an attractor, but he could do it with just his hands if necessary. The captain had given him a nod of approval and had stopped giving him appraising looks when Devon had demonstrated.
The second side effect was a vastly expanded ability to sense the earth. He’d awoken three nights ago around midnight, convinced they were about to run aground, the feel of rock beneath him was so strong. But they’d only been passing an underwater mountain, one that the sailors hadn’t even known existed.
Abram and Devon were still using the charm circles to refine their route, even though they’d passed the First Storm without incident. Now Abram focused their lores on a very small area, finding minute adjustments to wind and sail that optimized their travel. The captain was in a good mood, which to Devon looked like a tiny decrease in his bellowing, though the sailors all assured him it was very noticeable.
Now, though, the feeling of land was incredibly strong. The underwater mountain had been like heat rising up through Devon’s soles on a hot street. This was like being in a potter’s kiln. Devon tried to use his map lore to find out where the land was, but he only got a few feeble golden sparks that refused to form an image. He relaxed his mind, and sent his map lore searching; once it found something that was a human habitation, it would light it up and he’d be able to find their position.
The golden sparks did reveal to him that they had sailed into a heavy fog. He waved an arm about, and could feel the dense moisture on his skin. Lanterns hung on the railings were barely visible as pale blotches against the wet darkness.
Abram muttered and wrapped his arms more tightly around Devon. They were still sleeping together and Devon was less plagued by panic every time they did. He still had moments where all he wanted to do was run away and never return, but as he was trapped on a ship he really couldn’t do that. He just rode out the strange, inexplicable panic by hiding in a corner of the deck and hugging himself, repeating over and over that there was no reason to be afraid and that he was being absurd.
But now that there was surely land in sight, they must almost be to Zydobe! What should have been a twenty-day trip had been cut down to fifteen with his help, and he could not wait to get his feet on land again.
While he adjusted to the new sense of land, he felt a wave of dizziness. Abruptly, all his hair stood on end, covering his arms and legs with goosebumps. Abram snorted, then woke; Devon could feel him looking around.
“Godri keep us warm,” he heard Abram say, awe in his voice, before the ship was suddenly suffused with a soft but bright light. Abram shifted, and the hammock rocked, dumping them both out. Abram kept hold of Devon, so they both landed well. Other sailors were not so well-prepared. All over the ship, people were tumbling out of hammocks, or sitting up and banging their heads. Everyone was staring up at the crow’s nest, so Devon followed their gaze.
The highest point of the ship was wrapped in some kind of white, ghostly flame. The sailor up in the nest seemed unharmed, though Devon could not see who it was. The white fire was slowly spreading, licking down the mast and spreading out across the yardarms . When the flames began dripping down the sails, Devon squeaked and looked around. No one was attempting to put out the fire, even though Devon knew almost all of them were accomplished at that skill. Fires were deadly on ships.
“It’s a natural Coalescence,” Abram said, keeping his voice low.
“A what?” Devon replied. He’d never heard of such a thing.
“Some people that are ‘specially blessed in Thermas or Algidus can call spirits out of fire or frost,” Abram explained. “It’s called Coalescin’. It’s not a common gift, and it’s dangerous, but they can do some amazin’ things.”
“So did someone summon this?” Devon asked. The flames had completely engulfed the sails,a nd he could see why no one was panicking: the fire burned brightly, but didn’t consume. The sails were pushed taut, as if by a strong wind.
Abram made a strangled sound. “By the Eye, no!” he said. “This’s the Hand o’ Thermas. It lights on ships at night that’re sailin’ through dangerous fog or storms. Atmos gen’rally likes sailin’ ships, and when one is in peril sometimes She lets Thermas help out.”
“So you’re saying we’re in trouble?” Devon asked. “I can’t see anything over the water, though.” And indeed, the strange phantom light made it look like their ship was sailing through an empty, endless void. “How can you steer?”
“Look at the wheel,” Abram said. Devon turned to look at the aft of the ship, and saw that the wheel was completely hidden in a disc of the same flame as the sails. “The Hand o’ Thermas guides ye through fog, storms, even reefs and rocks. I’ve only seen it once before. All ye can do is wait until ze lets you ye go.”
“Why don’t you bring along someone to summon it, then?” Devon asked. “It seems very useful!”
All the crew in earshot turned glares at him and more than one sailor looked toward the Needle to the northwest and made apologetic motions. Devon stepped away from Abram so he could see the man’s face, white with shock. “What?”
“Summonin’ the Hand o’ Thermas is a one way ticket to yer own funeral,” Abram whispered. “Smaller spirits don’t mind bein’ called, but they all have a price. Ye shouldn’t even talk about doin’ such a thing.”
Devon opened his mouth to respond, when a change in the land he sensed completely distracted him. It was rising up beneath them, and he knew exactly where they were. “We’re sailing into the harbor!” he shouted.
As they continued to sail, he could suddenly see the tall, sun bleached walls that guarded the sea entrance to Zydobe. Golden light flared and his map lore swirled around him, and he fell to his knees as images spiraled around him and golden lights flashed and flew. He didn’t know if anyone else could see it, and he couldn’t see through the thickening haze of light at all. In his mind, he could feel an overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity, and he felt like he was falling, hurtling toward an unforgiving landing.
He heard people shouting, and felt the moment the ship passed through the great walls. The bowl of Zydobe appeared, written in golden fire and seared into his eyes. He began to scream.
Something struck him, knocking him down. The sun-bright brilliance of his map lore vanished, and he closed his eyes gratefully, tears streaming down his face from under his eyelids. No longer bombarded with information, he could reduce his map lore’s power. He’d gotten in the habit of leaving it wide open because of the work he’d been doing in the charm circle, and coming into range of a city had dumped every geographical detail into his head at once.
He opened his eyes, blinking away the tears, and saw Tiercel standing over him. “Ye okay?” he asked. The two of them had come to an understanding, especially once Devon had shown him how to purify water. Tiercel’s affinity with metal had let him pick up the knack easily, and he ahd gone from grumpy and taciturn to…well, taciturn.
“I think so. Thank you,” Devon said, clambering to his feet. “We’re in the Zydobe harbor.”
“Yeah, so ye said. We still can’t see anythin’,” Abram said. “How can you tell?”
“My map lore just went crazy,” Devon told him. “We’re definitely – watch out!”
The ship rocked crazily. Devon had barely sensed the approaching dock in time to brace himself as they slid up beside it. In a moment of irony, his Terros blessing kept him standing while all of the experienced, Atmos blessed sailors went sprawling and staggering about the deck. Shimmering fire swept across the desk, and ropes flew by themselves through the air, tying themselves off on the posts of the deck. Once they were secured, the Hand of Thermas went completely out, plunging them into total darkness.
The deck of thes hip was still for a moment, then the captain’s voice split the night, yelling orders that made no sense to devon, who was contemplating whether or not anyone would notice if he just slipped away wearing the set of clothes he had been given.
“Hey, Devon,” Abram said, stepping in front of him and holding out a hand. “It’s been great workin’ with ye. Let me know next time ye want to sail to Port Nanfula, I’ll get ye a discount.” He shook Devon’s hand, handed him his sad, stained messenger bag, then took off into the air. Devon’s jaw dropped at the casual dismissal. He didn’t expect a marriage proposal or anything, but sleeping together for two weeks entitled him to something a little more personal, didn’t it?
All the fear and guilt he’d been working through crashed back down on him and he made up his mind. He jumped up onto the railing, then leapt down to the deck. The drop was further than he had thought, but he managed to land and roll without breaking anything obvious. The wooden deck rocked slightly as he ran toward the city; though the fog was thick and dense, he could see the dock outlined in tiny golden sparkles.
The end of the dock was a short staircase, and he flew down it, landing gently on a flagstone road. He knelt and placed both hands flat on the stones. Golden energy streamed into him as he was reunited with land for the first time in two weeks, and he finally felt the niggling remains of exhaustion burn away. He let out a sigh, and let the connection between himself and the earth dwindle as he stood. He kept a thread of it open, just to feel what he’d been missing for so long.
He knew it was somewhere around three in the morning, and though his body felt like he could stay awake forever, he needed sleep. In his messenger bag he had the coin he’d collected from the jobs he’d picked up that day in Port Nanfula. He felt a tiny pang of conscience that he’d never delivered the letters, which had fallen into the bay as he’d flown out over the ocean into the Greenbreeze. But that wouldn’t keep him from using it to pay for a room for the night, and then finding passage back to Port Nanfula in the morning, hopefully via transit station. He’d had enough of boats.
He very gently invoked his map lore, looking for a good inn. He couldn’t just think “a place where I won’t be robbed”, of course, but he could envision a place with certain characteristics, like a stable, two floors, a clean common room…
With a sizzle, his map lore lit up a path, a golden line shooting away from him. He began following it, keeping his ears open for signs of people. He couldn’t see a thing through this ridiculous fog, which seemed to be blanketing the entire city, and he didn’t want to run into anyone. He walked casually, trying not to display openly that he was a stranger to this city. Considering how badly the last time he’d been attacked had gone, he didn’t want to take any chances.
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