Blood of the Sea, Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 14: Atman

Astrophel

The water holds him. Suspends him. It’s all around - above, below, left, right. It works its way through his veins…

“Ast.”

His head jerks, hair floating around him, his arms loosely held above his head. The water is dark and deep and he is at peace.

“Astrophel.”

He thinks to respond but nothing comes of words spoken underwater. His lungs feel hollow in his chest, inflated but slowly being crushed under the weight of the water pressing in around him. Bubbles escape from his mouth, rolling up the tip of his nose and wobbling as they free themselves of him, racing like squiggly fish towards the distant surface.

“...leave. There’s more…”

He has to reach the surface. He’s running out of time. He kicks out, scooping the water as he pulls his hands down to his sides, pointing them and pushing them back up as his legs pedal under him, propelling him away from the dark depths of the water and back towards the light, towards air, towards life. His hair streams around his shoulders, his muscles working to shake off the paralysis that had been dragging him down. His hands keep reaching, drawing the surface ever closer…

“...not listening to me, are you?”

Astrophel sits bolt upright, gasping for breath, his hands blindly finding Dionne’s as she crouches in front of him, her brows drawn tight with concern. He searches her eyes, steadying himself as her hands rub up and down his arms.

“You’re alright. We're still in Tiberius' longhouse. You must’ve had a bad dream…”

The air he pulls into his lungs is clean and fresh. The taste of salt sits heavily on his tongue and he feels parched. When he looks around for a pitcher or a glass, Dionne stands, crossing the room to bring him the pitcher from last night. The smooth wood in his hands feels reassuring and he tips the brim to his mouth, the drink like honey water sliding thickly into his mouth as he takes great mouthfuls of the mead. It’s refreshing, though not what he was anticipating first thing in the morning, but even that realization grounds him. Holding the pitcher in his lap, his tongue catches a drip as it slides from his lip. Dionne leans in, her hand raised as though she were going to wipe it off but he beat her to it. Instead, her hand comes to rest on his cheek. The mead in his lap fills his senses with fruity undertones and the muted burn of alcohol. Dionne smells fresh, her eyes sparkling, hair damp, and he realizes she’s changed - hair wet from a bath.

“How long was I asleep?”

“You seemed to be completely out when I got up, so I let you be. We were going to break fast with Tiberius’ family, but I couldn’t seem to wake you. I think they went ahead but left us some food if we should like it.” Dionne pushes a strand of hair behind his ear and smiles at him, the concern hovering around her eyes easing. 

“I… had a dream.”

“More dream walking? I thought you said you didn’t think you could…”

“Not like my mom. No. I… I can’t do that. I was…” he pauses, “underwater. I was sinking but I didn’t care.”

Dionne cups his other cheek with her other hand, pressing her forehead to his. “We aren’t sinking. We’re swimming. Floating. Sailing…”

“I know.”

“We’ve got this, Ast. It’s close.”

There's more to you than what would exist on the shores of your youth. The words come unbidden to mind and Astrophel leans away from Dionne, searching the room.

“Tiberius already left. He said the workers needed a reminder sometimes that the day started early here.” She smiles, “I think he just wanted an excuse to leave.”

“We are being bad guests.” Astrophel pushes to his feet, pulling Dionne up with him. Running a hand through his hair, he grabs a strap of leather from his wrist and ties it back messily, throwing their things together in the sealskin bag.

“You should eat before we leave.”

Astrophel begins to protest, but sees the way her arms are folded over her chest, her head tilted slightly to one side. “Alright. Before we leave.”

Outside the waves crash and drag against the shore, the sound muted but present as it pushes its way inside the longhouse. The hair along Astrophel’s neck stands up as the sound of the waves shape into soft whispers, filling his ears as he scarfs down the bread and jam left out for him. More dried meat sits out as well, but he sets it aside to save for the ride.

As they depart, Astrophel makes sure to close the door behind him and places his hand at the small of Dionne’s back. She smiles at him over her shoulder and nods in greeting to a few of the people of Yerevan as they go about their business. Heading to the water, Astrophel whistles, the sound rolling over the waves as the water toys with the thin edge of shore appearing and disappearing between the island shelf, where it rests underwater, and the visible, salt crusted rocks of the coast.

Iska and Ryju raise their heads above the surf, barking in greeting. Pyxis breaches, crashing back into the water, bringing a smile to Astrophel’s face. Dionne scrabbles down the rocks to her ‘urga as the wind shifts and Astrophel breathes in. Over the familiar smell of salt and brine, there’s an acrid taste that makes his nose wrinkle in disgust. Turning, others around the island shout in alarm. The fog bank to the south parts around the skeleton of a once mighty ship. Scorch marks run up and down the hull. The sails are tattered scraps flapping in the wind, the main mast snapped in half like a twig. Only seven oars of what - in Astrophel’s best estimate - should be twenty-four are being used to push through the water; the shipmaster clings to the prow, waving their free arm frantically when they spot landfall. Astrophel’s mouth hangs open, his hands limp at his sides as he notes the way the ribs of the ship poke through in places.

“How are they seaworthy?” Dionne’s voice is heavy with disbelief as she returns to Astrophel’s side, staring along with him at the inbound wreck.

“They aren’t,” Astrophel chokes out the response. The crew would have made it through luck and sheer determination alone.

They were never alone. Mist blasts in his face, forcing Astrophel to blink and squint against it. In the mist, he can just make out the silhouette of a woman’s face. Fathomless eyes bore into him, and he drops to one knee.

“Eulla.”

I wouldn’t abandon them.

“I didn’t mean…”

But it makes sense that you are surprised. Her silhouette turns towards the wreck as it nears shore, dozens of people rushing to aid the crew - or what’s left of it. There are things south which our people have not faced in some time.

“Did you make this happen?”

No. Her voice sends chills through him. But you are here to witness it. You didn’t believe me before.

“What sea creature can do that?”

Not one born of the sea, but of the sky. The goddess turns back to him. Are you listening yet, Heir of Stars? How much louder must I be?

Astrophel sinks back on his heels with disbelief overtaking him in waves. “I’m not one of the Five. I can’t…”

You cannot deny people look up to you.

“They look up to my mother.”

Do not deny me. Do not deny what your eyes are telling you.

Astrophel runs his fingers into his hair, gripping so he tugs against the roots. His eyes rake over the charred hull of the ship, the crew getting off, some slung between two of their clan mates, heads bowed low. Astrophel watches as someone rushes aboard and swings one of the crew up into their arms, turning back to shore, mouth open in a shout, a cry for help, their features twisting with fear. Astrophel squints, making out a hand hanging limply from the person in their arms. His thoughts race, his eyes raking over the tattered but mighty ship as realization dawns on him. “Tiberius knew…” Yerevan never built ships this large anymore. They were a part of history.

There’s more out there…

“You keep telling me that,” Astrophel hisses, “but why should we go when it brings us nothing but pain?” Astrophel’s gaze leaps to Tiberius: the chief’s large form standing out as he makes his way through the crowd. As he directs his people, their gazes meet, and Tiberius looks away first, shouting orders.

The goddess is quiet, her misty form tilting her head to one side. What is life but a series of events in between joy and sorrow? You think you are safe from that here?

“We can’t fight fire.”

No, but you can befriend it.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Astrophel hears his own voice crack with frustration.

Dionne places her hand on his shoulder, stepping between him and the misty apparition.

“Ast, what’s wrong?”

“Everything…” he glances from Dionne’s open expression, eyebrows furrowing above her bright eyes, to the misty form of the goddess. “And nothing.” He drops his hands to his sides, his chin dipping toward his chest as he takes a pained breath. “I don’t want to lead our people in the wrong direction.”

“You won’t. Ast, that’s why there’s Five of us.” Dionne cups his cheek and smiles at him. “We have each other’s backs.”

Astrophel turns, Dionne’s hand dropping away from his cheek as he stares beyond the ship, into the fog banks prowling around the island. Eulla shifts in front of him, waving her hand and he can see the outline of a city just barely there. Birds or… something larger circles the skyline, a sound not quite reaching his ears.

It’s your future. Whether you like it or not, it won’t be gentle.

“You said I have the choice,” Astrophel whispers.

Eulla folds her hands in front of her, You still do. Should I show you what will happen should you stay?

Astrophel purses his lips but nods, dread settling over him like a wet cloak. Eulla waves her hand again, this time in front of his eyes and his vision disappears. Reaching up to touch his face, his fingers drag over his cheeks as his lungs empty of air with a hollow rattle. He stumbles forward a step.

There are those who envy your position.

Fatigue fills his body, his limbs feeling heavy. He turns his head this way and that, searching for something, anything to grace his vision. Clearly, more clearly than anything else in his life, he suddenly sees the face of a woman both known and unknown to him. Eulla, her cheeks glittering softly with scales on her cheekbones. Her eyes, dark and fathomless though gleaming with a certain, secret knowledge. Her hair floating around them, holding him close like a wreath of blue kelp. Astrophel shakes his head slowly, the feeling of sharp little razor like teeth prickling at his skin.

Is this the end you dream of? A watery grave? I can give it to you, but it won’t be as glorious as you would have dreamed.

His chest aches and he glances down, the hilt of a knife sticking out of skeletal ribs, flesh drifting in the current surrounding him as it peels away with decay. He gags, air quickly replaced with the overwhelming weight of water. He gags again, harder, and the process is inescapable as it fills his mouth, nose, lungs. His eyes stream with unshed tears - the water absorbing them immediately.

“Not like this.” He mouths to his goddess. “Anything but this.”

She smiles, a sad expression. And your people say drowning can be a kindness.

His sight and senses return, thrust back into his living, breathing body. On his hands and knees, the water laps at the rocks mere inches from his face. He glances up, seeing the ship leaning against the shore like a tired corpse.

Take your future in hand, Astrophel. Do not meet me in the depths when you have so much to live for.

“I…” he swallows, and his throat and nose burns like he really did drink buckets worth of salt water. He coughs, just to be sure his lungs are empty. The rush of air refilling them makes him sag in relief. Dionne is several paces away, talking to one of Tiberius’ clan mates. She gestures back towards Astrophel and the clansman looks concerned, though confused.

Astrophel touches his fingertips to his forehead before pushing his hands toward the water waiting for him. “I’ll go.” He pushes to his feet, strands of hair hanging in his face and he raises his voice for Dionne to hear him. “I’ll go south. I’ll find who did it and what the journal means. What it all means.”