Blood of the Sea, Chapter Three

Chapter 3: Desiderate

Vance

Seated on the gravel beach of Montoro, his legs crossed before him, palms pressed into the loose stones, Vance breathes in with the scrape of the rocks tumbling over one another as the tide tugs them free, sending pebbles skittering deeper into the water before rushing back up with the next wave. Exhaling, emptying himself of the last strands of thought, his eyes open, taking in the rolling momentum of the water. The wind blows inland, fluffing the tops of the waves with white caps; mist waving off the tops like long strands of island grass before dissipating. The breeze hits him full in the face, stinging his eyes and chafing at his cheeks, but Vance smiles and breathes in the salt. This is home. This is where I’m meant to be.

He brings his hands together, palms touching, and reaches for the water with his magic, which bubbles in his chest before surging through his arms and sweeping out into the water. He waits, feeling the currents push and prod and pull at his magic, before it integrates and he can feel the vibrations of fish moving through the bay and the undertow waiting for the unsuspecting, should they step in. Drawing his hands apart, the water moves with him, forming a rift where the sand below the surface is left wet, but barren. On either side, fish continue swimming, shells tumble, and water hangs suspended as though a wall lay in the middle instead of nothing but air.

He repeats the gesture a few times, each time letting the water slosh back into place as he watches the waves, once separated, clash against one another with a spray of mist and a scattering of water droplets, before settling against the sea bed again. The magic is new, but he has been practicing; learning more about it with every passing day. The clan already knew they had a new water caller in their midst, and his family had begun receiving invitations for him to steer boats or track schools of fish.

Vance smiles, letting his eyes close as the sunlight grows brighter, beating against his eyelids, as self-satisfaction warms his chest. This is what it means to be powerful. Our lives are built around the water; to manipulate it is to be respected.

Soon enough, they’ll see. The mantle of leadership should be worn by those with the gifts of the sea.

Nox

Each island’s house of healing is set up slightly differently, but they are all kept warm, bright, and have plenty of sightlines to the sea. Montoro’s is no different.

Though each islander is taught how to swim from a young age, there will still always be accidents. Sometimes the water is rougher than normal. Sometimes the undertow catches someone by surprise. Sometimes, children think they are tougher than they are, and push past the limits of what they can and cannot do. The ocean is as dangerous as it is welcoming to their people. Their Goddess is no different.

Nox dips the cloth back into the water basin beside the bed they are tending to, dabbing away blood and tears as the teen in question squirms. Their friends attend close by, heads ducked in shame. Nox’s voice is even and calm when they ask again, “What was the dare?”

The one on the bed has a gash which, while superficial, is bleeding a fair amount given it’s a head injury. They simply close their eyes, squinting past the pain as Nox continues wiping away the blood, having already applied pressure and gotten the worst of it to stop gushing. Nox’s gaze flits to the friends of their patient, waiting. A muscle in their jaw ticks, but otherwise they refrain from being mad at them. We were all like this once. Khalil nearly got Sulien drowned when we were younger. Nox shakes their head at the thought and sets the cloth aside, swiping their fingers through an ointment also open and nearby. “This will sting.”

Their patient just nods, eyes still squinted tightly shut, and Nox brushes a strand of their hair away from the wound, giving them slight notice before applying the mixture so they don’t startle as badly, even as they suck in a sharp breath as the ointment spreads and stings, beginning its work.

“We’re sorry, Nox,” one of the friends speaks up.

“It’s not me who you should be apologizing to.” Nox wipes their hands off on the damp cloth, making eye contact with the two standing nearby. “Skai will be fine with some rest, but it’s a bad bump. If this happened underwater, they could have drowned.”

“We were just racing along the boats…”

“Boat-jumping,” Skai mutters through gritted teeth at Nox’s side.

Nox’s mouth purses and Skai’s friends fidget, uncomfortable. “You do know the boats get wet, don’t you? They don’t stay dry, even if they’re tied up.”

“We’ve done it before,” the two friends share a look, wincing as though afraid they’re telling on themselves.

“Look, I’m not that much older than you. You aren’t in trouble, yet, just,” Nox exhales through their nose, “be more careful. Watch out for each other. If someone lags behind, check up on them. Okay? Just promise me that.”

The friends nod their heads vigorously. The quieter one asks, “Will Skai be ok?”

Nox gets up from beside the bed, waving their hand, “Yes. The worst of the bleeding is done. Just make sure you three take a breath and find something ashore to do for a few days.” Nox shoulders out of the house of healing, the clear fresh air dissipating the thick smell of herbs, ointments, and the tang in the back of their throat from the blood.

They flip the cloth still in their hands over one shoulder, gazing out to sea. Sure, the boats are relatively sheltered by the curve of Montoro, but as they reminded the teens, that doesn’t stop the waves. Especially lately. Nox sighs. Vance is a water caller, Ast, Dio, and Sul come from lines of magic. Khalil feels confident in Eulla picking him.

But what about me?

The ocean roars as a wave rolls in, the water down on the gravel beach splitting unnaturally. Nox doesn’t bother looking for Vance; already knowing he’s down there, somewhere.

Nox’s gaze lifts toward the horizon. Toward Falun, and the temple to Eulla. If I am to be one of the Five, I need some sort of sign.

The wind whips through their hair, knotting it, but there’s no voice carried past their ears. No new sign on the water. No new tingle in their fingertips.

They feel almost… empty. Like how it feels after a sigh of relief.

Their brow furrows. Nox plucks a rock from the ground and lobs it toward the ocean. The rock sails through the air, landing in the tide with a bloop as the water takes it; the stone disappearing into the depths, almost as if it never were.

Sitting down, Nox folds their arms across their knees, resting their chin on their arms, and stares into the sea. Give me a purpose. Make me into something greater. Please.

The sea - immortal and constant - says nothing in return.