Blood of the Sea, Chapter Nineteen

Chapter 19: Culmination

Astrophel

The days between Valskog and Caladija pass uneventfully, though Astrophel keeps returning to the image of Sulien’s haunted expression when asked if he had spoken with Eulla’s Voice. Iska and Pyxis keep him company for the trip, and it keeps him occupied, smiling at Pyxis’ antics as they explore the world so new to them, their littler flippers working harder as they wheel about in the water when Iska stops for the night.

Astrophel arrives on the third day nearly about dawn, the water purplish and tinged with orange as Iska floats toward the surface and the water tension breaks over Astrophel’s head. Night slithers toward the horizon as the sky cracks open with the orange and yellow sunlight. Splitting through the clouds, pushing aside the stars, the new day emerges low over the water, polishing the ripples ahead of Iska with a bronzy sheen.

Coming across the island of Caladjia from the back, the dormant volcanic mountain peaks ahead of them in hues of black and purple, holding the rest of the island and its lush colors to its chest like in a hug, with the base of the mountain stretching out on either side that Astrophel can see from the water. Urging Iska on, they swim around the island to the right, following the slope of the volcano down to the shore where the waves finally have access. The coral reef rises to meet them, fish flurrying about as they realize an ‘urga is swimming ever nearer. Pyxis shoots away from Iska’s side, frisky from the long travel days, and eager to bite. Their silvery body glints and twists amongst pinks, yellows, green, browns, and near translucent blues. Iska snorts, a little puff of warning as her whiskers curl around her snout as she watches her pup leave her side. Shaking her head, her crest wobbles back and forth, flicking water in all directions before she slaps her tail against an incoming wave and rides it onto the beach.

Astrophel slides free of her back and staggers, regaining his feet after so much time astride the ‘urga. Bracing a hand against her neck, he rubs her damp fur with affection and gets a puff of wet air in his face in return. Satisfied her land-walking tide-rider is safely ashore, Iska rolls her shoulders once more toward the water, a wave crashing against her side harmlessly as her nostrils close again, her lumbering-on-land body returning back to her natural habitat. She chases after her pup as Astrophel watches, smiling, before his gaze returns to the island, briefly scanning over the empty beach around him.

Bare of sailboats, longships, and other ‘urgas, he instead finds a long, crescent stretch of sand and clay wiggling its toes into the waterline. The blue of the waking sky languishes over the water, brightening the dark undercurrents into a crystalline teal that burgeons with activity and color. The mountain is speckled with a few hardy trees, but most of the greenery comes from moss covered rocks tossed about, and the grass creeping out from the mountain in patches. Shaking his head vigorously, water scatters about, twinkling in the growing sunlight as his wet hair splats back and forth across his shoulders. Pulling his shirt from his torso, the material clings to his form, his fist squeezing water out. Seeing as he is the only person presently around, he peels the shirt off, bunching it up in his hand and wringing it out. The water trickles down his forearms, dripping free of his elbows and splashing his feet and the sand he stands upon, darkening the light beige color to a firm tan.

Trudging his way through the sand, his feet sinking with each step - making his forward progress less than he might have liked, he heads toward the longhouse where it lies nestled in amongst the curvature of the island like a sleeping child tucked in their parent’s arms. By the time he reaches it, the sun is dappling warmth across his shoulders, growing in intensity, and the accessible shade provided by the longhouse brings some measure of preemptive relief.

Leaning his shoulder into the heavy wooden door, the hinges finally give, moving for their intended purpose, and the council of five chairs sits in the darkened room, waiting for him. Leaving the doorway, the door slowly sliding back to its point of origin, his bare feet whisper and scratch against the smooth wood floor as he walks around the room to the head of the table. Each chair is carved with an image denoting different aspects of their way of life. One bears the shape of a ship emerging from a wave, another a fish leaping away from a spear, a third with two swords crossed over the apex of the chair’s back, a fourth with an ‘urga and an E’len diving deep underwater, and the fifth - he stops next to his mother’s chair. A crown is carved into the top of the fifth chair, speared through with a hilt that branches into the rest of the mural of wood. His fingers lightly trace over the crown’s points and the pommel of the hilt. He stops there, letting his hand drop away as he stares down the length of the room.

In the center of the table lies a bowl of water that seems to move on its own. Drawn from the currents out past Falun, from the Proxysm tide, the water is almost sentient. Sacred to his people, Astrophel bows toward the bowl, touching his fingertips to his forehead. Straightening again, he slowly exhales and tries to picture his friends standing in front of the other four chairs. How full the room might be. Whether there will be cheering or … he stops himself from imagining an alternative.

Shaking himself, Astrophel leaves the longhouse and settles on the ground overlooking the common spot to park the longships. He pulls his knees into his chest, resting his chin on his knees, and resigns himself to waiting.

~

The ocean stretches on in a never ending ribbon of blue for hours, the sun climbing higher in the sky and warming into Astrophel’s skin. Eventually, the water is disturbed by the presence of longships; first just one, then pairs and trios arrive, using the same current of wind as they round the island and head to dock. When he looks for his mother’s seafoam green sail with kraken tentacles crawling up along the bottom, he almost misses her ship pulling in: the main sail replaced with a white canvass with a small greenish flag flying off the stern. Realization dawns on him that this is really the day, and his gaze leaps from ship to ship, noting the white sails and smaller colored flags on the lead boats.

Rising to his feet, hands folded behind his back, he makes his way down toward the ships as ‘urgas start appearing along the shore, depositing their E’len. By the time he reaches his mother’s longship, the beach is crowded and boisterous, with an undercurrent of anticipation. Some people nervously leap out of Astrophel’s way, others give him a wide berth once they recognize who he is, and still more bow their heads with knowing smiles. His mother stands at the head of the ship, directing the flow of people. Clothed in a simple tunic and mid length pants, her hilt is clearly on display at her hip, hair pulled away from her face in a severe braid. Astrophel waits as she talks with a few of her soldiers who are carrying a tray covered in a sheet between them. Nodding at her direction, they head past Astrophel, meeting his eyes as they move on up the hill. Vetra places her hands on her hips, one hand resting on the bladeless hilt as she falls into thought, staring out at the water. Astrophel steps up beside her and waits for her to come back to him.

“I wish I could have done more to prepare you.” Her voice is soft and distant even though she stands at his side.

“You’ve done more than enough, mother.” The wind snags on his words, blowing past his shoulder and hers, whipping his hair forward ahead of him.

Vetra turns to him, and her hands twitch at her side but Astrophel can see her refrain from touching him just then. She sniffs, and his brow furrows with concern.

“Mother…”

“I pray Eulla blesses you as you move forward. I know She has many things in store for you, your path…” Vetra sucks in a breath. “I fear that you’ll be lost to us.”

“I…” Astrophel stops himself from saying he won’t be. He studies the woman before him as she studies him back, both at an impasse of things they would like to say, but can’t.

Vetra breaks the moment, gesturing toward the longhouse, “They’ll be waiting for their prince.”

“Mother…”

“You can’t go like this, though.”

Astrophel glances down at his sand crusted pants and bare chest. He winces sheepishly.

“Check the boat. I’ll meet you at the thrones.” She walks past him, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing once as she begins the ascent.

The thrones. She had only ever called them that in the story she would tell him of her own ascension. Otherwise, they were just chairs. It made sense though. Today is the day. He leaps aboard the longship, digging through his mother’s supplies at the prow of the ship. His fingers touch upon something soft and it almost startles him, making him pause in disbelief before he pulls the material out of the bag. Oiled seal skin dyed at the ends for an ombre from green to brown to green again, like seaweed along the ocean floor. The shawl is sturdy enough to be a great boon when traveling, slick enough to shake off the elements, but soft enough to be comfortable, moldable, and is great testament to the skilled hands and dedication of the crafter. It’s a beautiful piece, and the pants that accompany it are just as finely made - left the natural brown of the seal, but stitched with ‘urgas swimming along the hem of the pant legs. Shedding his comparatively grimy pants, he dons the gifts - for that’s truly what they are - and makes his way back up to Caladija’s crown jewel: the council room.

“Astrophel!”

He pauses and turns, clouds crossing the sky enough to force the sunlight to come down in long shafts of gold. Blinking against the mirage surly before him, his mouth parts in awe at the sight of Dionne stepping down from her family’s ship, wrapped in a long dress made of an ethereal blue with gray and silver speckles that grow in size the further down the dress he looks. As she strides toward him, moving with the grace of a soldier who knows what her body is capable of, her bare legs peek through the slits in the dress on either side, embroidery down the front showing a scene every islander grew up familiar with: the story of Eulla blessing the first ships.

Dionne dances in and out of the shafts of sunlight which seem to turn and chase after her as she makes her way to Astrophel’s side. She smiles at him, her hair dark and curling over the tops of her arms. “I made it.”

“You made it.” Astrophel drinks in the sight of her. “You look…”

“It’s different, I know,” she toys with the hem of his shawl, “but so are you.”

“It’s…”

“Expected, of both of us.” Dionne cups his cheek, her expression radiating confidence in the brightness of her eyes and the flash of her smile. “It’ll be ok. We’re all here.”

Hearing approaching footsteps, he finally notices his other friends drawing closer to him from the boats as well. Khalil is regal in a stiff collared, deep blue-black, floor-length robe. Sulien glows in a golden-and-sand-colored kilt and wrap-around shirt that clings to the contours of his body. Last but not least, there’s Nox wreathed in a multitude of leis draping down their torso and ending right above the waist of a pair of billowy pants cuffed at the ankle. Bangles decorate Nox’s wrists, Sulien’s hair chimes with little bells braided into his hair, and Khalil’s eyes are accentuated with blue paint.

Behind them, from the surf comes a reddish ‘urga, moderately sized and sleek. Atop their back, Astrophel spots Vance’s dark mop of hair. Soaked through, his clothes cling to him as he slides free of his mount. He turns his ‘urga back to the water and shakes his hair, sending droplets flying in all directions before he notices Astrophel’s gaze upon him. By the time their eyes meet, Khalil, Sulien, Nox, and Dionne have all formed up around Astrophel: Khalil’s hands formed into fists, Dionne tipping her chin up as she stands tall. Vance approaches, wet footsteps in the sand trailing behind him, his hair matted to his forehead, hiding most of his glower save for the downturn of his mouth. Sulien steps forward to stop his approach but Astrophel grabs his friend’s arm, shaking his head.

Vance stops before him, taking his time scanning over Astrophel’s outfit with a measure of scorn. “Flashy, like a fish wriggling in a net.”

“You aren’t going to challenge for a Hilt?” Astrophel asks.

Vance scoffs, brushing his hand through the air, “I can do better than wielding a measly bit of metal.” Behind him, the tide rushes from the right side of the beach to the left as if shoved by a boat launched into the water, but it doesn’t settle, instead climbing in a wall of water that curls over the top of some of the boats now resting on the sandy, exposed shore.

“Your Magic,” Astrophel nods, a sense of unease rocking in his stomach. A water caller could destroy all of the boats, flood an island, or starve our people. It wasn’t a common gift, but it wasn’t rare either, and they often earned famed spots on ships for their assistance and control over the tides. The only water that doesn’t bow to them is the Paroxysm Tide.

Vance grins, his lips curling back with a sort of half snarl. “You see? I’m powerful in my own right. So what if I don’t get a Hilt?” He rolls his wrist, stopping his hand palm up in front of him, bowing sardonically at the waist as if to offer the ball of water forming in his hand to Astrophel. “I have control over something more important.”

Nox steps forward, squaring their shoulders. “Stand down, Vance.”

Vance narrows his eyes, “Why should I? What do I owe you? I’m more powerful than you. Than any of you.”

Astrophel’s muscles bunch across his back but he stops himself from stepping in.

“Put the water back, Vance.”

Vance eyes Nox, “You can’t stop me. Can’t force me to listen.”

“No, but imagine what Eulla must be thinking, having given you her personal Magic, and watching you abuse it by making empty threats.” Nox folds their arms over their chest, “Seems like a waste. But what do I know? I was only chosen to bear one of the Hilts.” Nox turns on their heel and steps past the others, murmuring, “Let’s go. Can’t keep everyone waiting forever.”

Vance’s lips part with surprise, his hand still held out, the ball of water forming and shifting over his palm while the waves churn in the air at his back. Astrophel turns with Sulien, Dionne, and Khalil, and walk after Nox toward the longhouse of Caladija. They make it part way up the hill before the sound of the usual tide returns in the background, free of the sound of splintering wood. Astrophel smiles to himself, pride warming his chest for Nox.

The five of them push through the door and the tribes all stand at attention, dozens of eyes fixed upon their entrance. The five of them make their way to the chairs - thrones - and the Five waiting at the head of the long table. As they move through the room, walking slower than normal, strides measured out, Vetra, holding the bowl of water from the Paroxysm Tide in her hands, calls out in a clear, loud voice. “Are there any who would object to the five presented to you as they are now?”

Astrophel feels the weight of many eyes upon him, but no one speaks. He spots Raelyn with those representing the Montoro tribe. Her gaze is contemplative as it follows Nox, Montoro’s chosen successor.

“Are there any who feel they were unfairly selected by your peers, and would wish to see them replaced?”

The old man who opened the door for Astrophel a week earlier catches his eyes and bows his head as Astrophel passes him.

“Are there any who would object to their ascension to bearers of the Hilts? The weapons of worth passed from ruler to ruler through our told history?”

Astrophel passes a woman who reaches out to him, hand just stopping from touching his shawl. No taller than her waist, a child by her side gazes up at him, eyes wide with awe. When they notice his attention, the child bobs in a quick amalgamation of a curtsey and whispers, “My Prince.”

“Then let the trial be given, and these five pass into Eulla’s gaze to be judged.”

Dionne, Sulien, Astrophel, Nox, and Khalil line up side by side in front of their respective tribe’s former leader. Vetra steps out of line, dipping her fingers into the bowl as it balances in her other hand before flicking the water into Dionne’s face. She leans in, closing Dionne’s eyelids and whispers something. Dionne sags, going limp as her tribe’s leader steps forward, catching her. Vetra moves to Sulien, splashing him with water and closing his eyes. He also sags, being caught by his leader. Vetra meets Astrophel’s eyes and moves past him to Nox, repeating the process with them and Khalil. Stepping back to Astrophel, his friends being laid on the wood floor of the longhouse in a semi circle, Vetra nods to him, her words traveling into his mind without passing beyond her lips, “Are you ready for this?”

“You made me ready, mom.”

“You can turn back.”

“You know that’s not true. Eulla’s waiting for me.”

Her eyes soften, a sort of sadness creasing the corners, which takes Astrophel by surprise. Out loud, Vetra whispers, “Bask in the tide of your birth. Remember these islands. Hold your people close to your heart.” She dips her fingers, setting the bowl on the table at Astrophel’s back and drawing a rune on his brow, closing his eyes with her damp touch. His head spins and he feels an exhale tear free of his chest, a wave of vertigo crashing into him. He doesn’t know which way is up, or if the earth still has a hold of him. He only knows the darkness. It is soft and warm and surrounds him like a babe cradled in an infant ship set upon a flat, mirror-like lake.

A light touch to his forehead jolts through him and his eyes fly open, finding Eulla crouched in front of him. She retracts her hand as he sits up, pushing to her feet and turning away from him, the edges of her flowing garments blending into the dark water Astrophel finds himself seated upon. Touching it experimentally, his hand goes through it like it would go through water, but it doesn’t feel wet to the touch as he pulls his hand back out. Pressing his palm flat against the surface, he meets resistance, but if he pokes at it, it splashes and ripples.

“You’re going through with it, then.” Eulla’s voice drifts to him, melodic and smooth with an undercurrent of tempestuous power.

“It’s fated. You’ve told me that much.”

“But you chose to walk into the council room of Caladija. You chose to be chosen. You accepted the touch of the Tide.”

“But you’re the one blowing wind into my sails. You’re directing my current. I have to surrender to…”

“Do you? Am I?” She looks over her shoulder at him, hair flowing in a river down her back before it merges with her dress. “I told you there’s more in store for you. You’ve accepted this.”

“I don’t know that I want it.”

“But?”

Astrophel feels a certain unseen weight settle over his shoulders. It feels older, weary, but knowledgeable. The weight lifts as he meets Eulla’s gaze. “I can’t out-swim my own future. The tide will always catch up to me.”

Eulla offers her hand to Astrophel. “Rise, champion of Gytheio, son of Vetra.”

He takes her hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Rise and traverse the path ahead of you.” She releases his hand, gesturing. His eyes track the movement as she reveals one of the Hilts to him. It floats in the air, three feet off the dark, solid water, and the length of three longships measured prow to stern from where he stands. He takes a step toward it and suddenly he is right in front of the Hilt, the metal glinting softly. He frowns, confused, and turns back to Eulla. She stands three ship lengths away, where he started. She smiles. “Take it, Astrophel. Claim your birthright.”

Slowly, he reaches out and wraps his hand around the hilt. The metal warms under his touch and he feels it shift slightly, shaping to his grip. Swinging it from side to side, he easily finds the weight to his liking. A smile dawns across his face, as well as a sense of relief, joy, and pride. Eulla crosses the distance at a more moderate pace, and he wonders at it, what it means his Magic is. She smiles with him and reaches out, clasping her hand around his. The touch is light, almost airy, but cold where he expected it to be warm. In their hands, a blade forms at the cross-guard, silver-white and wavy. Eulla releases his hand, and he draws the magic-touched blade through the air, a deep but distant humm resonating in his ears, almost interchangeable with the sound of being underwater.

Dropping his hand holding the Hilt at his side, he bows to Eulla who in turn dips her head to him. “Carry it well, Prince of Starlight.”

As he straightens, he comes to, his eyes fluttering open as he finds himself also laying on the floor amidst his friends. They are rousing with him, Khalil rubbing at his eyes, Nox grinning, Sulien nodding slowly, and Dionne staring at the large Hilt in her hands. Astrophel climbs to his feet, waiting for his friends to join him. The overcrowded room before him seems to be holding their breath.

His friends join him once again as they stand at the front of the room. Meeting his mother’s stormy eyes, she nods as if to say go ahead.

The Five raise their Hilts overhead as the council erupts with cheers.