Blood of the Sea, Chapter Nine

Chapter 9: Precipitation

Khalil

Lleida leaps from the water, the pull of her momentum pressing Khalil down against his urga’s spine as she noses back into the sea on the back of another wave. The water swallows them both, the sound muted even as water rushes past his ears. Lledia rolls through the current before curving back toward the surface, breaking out of the water. Through the saltwater in his eyes, Khalil makes out the temple atop a sea-sprayed cluster of rocks. Falun. The revered island that holds the temple of Eulla.

The image disappears as E’len and urga crash back into the foamy water which grows warmer around them as they draw near the spat of land. Lleida’s speed slows and this time when she approaches the boundary between sea and sky, her head pushes through it, but her body doesn’t follow. Khalil sits up, dragging a hand over his face as the saltwater pours over his features, dripping from his nose and chin, and down his chest. He pats Lleida on the neck, the solid feel of her reassuring against the bubble of nausea rising in his throat. Her streamline body moves side to side as her tail lashes back and forth, bringing the island ever nearer.

It's been a while, Khalil admits to himself. Eulla’s Voice is as near to their Goddess as one can be. The idea of talking to her sends a shiver down his spine, despite the warm water surrounding him.

The sunlight overhead, though strong and healthy given its position high overhead, seems to dim as Khalil slides free of Lleida’s back and swims up to the shore. He tosses a glance sky-high, and though clouds are beginning to form, they aren’t close enough to blot out the sun. He frowns but dismisses it, letting the dim light lead him toward the temple. Columns bolster the corners of the structure, each of the four wide enough that a little more than a handful of people would have to hold hands to completely surround them. The columns’ exteriors are weathered with age, wind, and sea. The elegant pillars between those columns are graced with generations worth of names.

The archway beckons Khalil through like the open arms of a mother. As his feet press into the stone below him, and the water recedes at his back, his gaze finds the western pediment above the doorway. While the eastern pediment holds the story of Eulla’s forgiving nature, it’s under the western pediment that the five come to seek their worth. The choppy surface of the pediment speaks to the sea at storm. The dark colors swirling and lashing, spilling out of the pediment’s border to drip down the frieze of the temple, obscuring some of the finer details in the art below. In all things, the temple reminds him to look back to Eulla; for She is the ocean, the water in his blood, and the stage upon which he and the tribes live out their lives. Khalil finds himself staring deeply into the painting, the colors storming around him, drawing him in and drowning him. It is there that he finds Her gaze: stern and full of withheld judgment. At once, a mother and a judge.

A voice carries over the breaking of the waves against the rock, startling Khalil, and freeing him from the Goddess’ pull. Eulla’s Voice stands before him, the tide swirling about both his and her ankles. Khalil runs his fingers through his hair, water still dripping down the sides of his face. The daylight has grown darker still and Eulla’s Voice appears to nearly be clad in black, her long, water soaked, dark blue robes mimicking the sea as swept under brewing storm clouds.

“Are you lost, warrior?”

Khalil flinches as her voice rolls over and through him. He clears his throat. “I have come to seek the Goddess’ blessing.”

“As have many before you. What makes you worthy? What makes you different?”

Khalil swallows, the movement of his throat reminding him of being lost at sea, bobbing in the waves with nowhere else to go. He shakes his head, having no words as the mural of his Goddess stares him down.

Her Voice approaches him. Each step sloshing through the water until she stands before him. Her pale hand comes up to rest on his cheek, the elegant black lines of her markings, once hidden under her sleeve, now standing stark against her skin as her sleeve falls to her elbow. The whorls and swirls speak of the sea, while the straight lines map out constellations and navigational markers. Khalil sucks in a sharp breath as her eyes meet his: so pale blue as to be nearly ice white. Like the breath of frost that rolls over the seafoam and steals the air from one’s lungs as it pierces so deep into his skin, accompanied by the knowledge that he’ll never be warm again.

“Khalil, son born of the island Igdir. The spears at the tip of the helm, the eyes pointed toward the sky…” the Goddess’ Voice trails off, and she raises her gaze to the sky. Khalil sees the first raindrops fall and break upon her upturned cheeks; no more bothered by it is she than a rock used to the temper of a storm. Her voice softens when she speaks again, “The Goddess holds claim to your bloodline. You are blessed and broken; a blade without bite, but a bow is not without its broadhead.”

He blinks and the world around him flashes white. A deep, rock shattering boom rings in his ears alongside an echoing roar; a primal sort of scream that makes all the hair on his arms stand on end. His heart aches, but it wars with the confusion marring his brow as the rain falls harder, faster, almost blistering against his bare skin. His hands curl into fists, but the motion is stopped short as his fingers tighten around the polished grain of a bow. He adjusts his grip, staring down at a black fletched arrow in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he nocks and draws the arrow, loosing it into the sky as rain fills his vision. The roar comes again; the sound haunting, visceral, and full of rage.

Khalil blinks, finding himself on his knees in the mix of rain and salt water as the high tide ripples back and forth over the rocks of Falun. Eulla’s Voice stands before him still, her hands folded in the long sleeves of her robe. Both of them are soaked to the skin. She nods, her glacial eyes heavy with knowing.

Khalil pants through the mix of emotions running through him. His senses prickle as though ready for a fight, and his skin is clammy – though from the vision or the water, it’s hard to say. “What was that?”

The woman’s mouth tips up, the expression a near approximation to a smile, but it misses the mark. Her cheekbones are just a little too sharp, her teeth too jagged, her skin glistening like scales under the rain. “The Goddess tells us many things.”

“She didn’t tell me anything.”

“She gave you Her blessing. Your magic will make a mark on this world.”

“I have magic?”

Eulla’s Voice nods, her face obscured for a moment under her hood. When she meets Khalil’s eyes again, her features have softened. “Take your place as one of the Five, Khalil. Change is coming, and you must ride out the waves in its wake.”

Khalil rises to his feet, bowing once to Eulla’s Voice and the quiet, watchful temple behind her. The presence of his Goddess sits heavily on his mind and in the air which has grown more saturated, and pungent during their brief exchange. The foreign smell burns the back of his throat as he turns and makes his way back toward his waiting hydrurga.

As the two of them take their last breaths before submerging for the journey back, Khalil takes one last glance toward the rain-soaked sky: the resonant roar still rumbling in his mind.

They dive, and the familiar world envelops E’len and urga once again. Behind them, Khalil leaves shadows of things that have been, and those yet to come, on the salt-stained shores of Falun.

His Goddess has plans for his friends – of that he is certain; in turn, he must do what he can to keep all of their heads above the water.