Seamark, page 3
Garen didn’t reply, just turned and wrapped his arms around Morgan’s waist, leaning his hot, wet face against his shoulder. Morgan rocked him and held him close and almost, almost forgot about the man he had hidden not a hundred feet away.
He would come back to him tomorrow and bring food and a blanket if he could find one to spare. The man would surely appreciate it …
If he was still alive by then.
Chapter five
Morgan had never wished so badly for an hour of idleness before in his entire life. And he’d done a lot of idle wishing.
The result of yesterday’s conference slash shouting match was that the entire village would make ready to leave on a moment’s notice, and that everyone of age would increase their training in weaponry and practice fighting in their sea dragon forms.
“I remember the tricks they used last time,” Brevaer said darkly to Morgan that morning as they ate the plain, tepid meal he’d managed to scrape together. He should have taken time yesterday to haul in more of the communal root crop and pound it into something edible, but, well … yesterday had gotten away from him.
“They spread nets across the water to tangle us,” Brevaer went on, either not realizing, or equally likely, not caring that Morgan’s thoughts were several miles away. “They had some sort of stinking black oil that set the sea on fire too. It burnt out quickly, but the oil stuck in the gills. You had to transform to scrape it off, and then you were more vulnerable to attacks by their harpoons.”
“But we still don’t know they’re coming for us,” Morgan pointed out. His brother scowled at him. “We don’t! Not for sure! You said yourself that the evidence you’ve found so far is inconclusive, didn’t you?”
“It’s true that much of their ship’s stores sank or were destroyed before we reached the wreckage,” Brevaer said. “But think. Their ship exploded. Why would a ship with good intentions carry something on it capable of that level of destruction?”
That … was a very good question and not one that Morgan wanted to consider. He changed the subject instead and later that morning found himself sweating alongside every other person of fighting age in the clan as they wielded staffs on the beach. The only ones who weren’t there were the women with young children, the few who were needed in the fields, and those seeing to the packing.
“Double tempo!” Brevaer called out, and the drummer picked up the pace. Morgan groaned aloud, almost getting whapped by someone else’s staff as he broke formation. “You don’t get to stop yet!” his brother snapped at him when he saw Morgan standing there, rubbing one aching arm. “Not until you do this ten more times, perfectly!”
What good will staves do us against people who can make things explode? But Morgan didn’t say that out loud, because he valued his life.
“Time the strikes to your exhales,” Garen whispered from where he was working a little ways off. “It makes it easier to move in time with the beat.”
“But that’s boring and predictable,” Morgan whined, nevertheless following along with Garen’s direction. “How is this supposed to help us fight anyone?”
“It’s not.”
Morgan almost jumped out of his skin as his brother’s hand landed on his shoulder. “These early skills are meant to help you learn to move and become accustomed to the weight of a weapon in your hands,” he said sternly. The others moved around them like a bunch of panting, breathless shadows. “Once you’re capable of that, you can learn more.”
Morgan scowled. “If this is the beginner class, then why is Garen here?”
“Morgan!” he heard his friend mutter.
“He’s here because he’s responsible for making sure you do your training.”
Oh, for the— “That’s not fair! You can’t punish him just because I’m bad at this!”
“Garen, unlike you, has enough of a care for the well-being of the entire village that he doesn’t want a little fish like you to bring the rest of the school down!” Brevaer snapped.
In the distance, Morgan heard his cousin Drenikel snicker. Son of a bit—no, I won’t dishonor Auntie like that.
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt!”
“Then take responsibility for yourself for once and let these lessons sink into your thick head!” His brother turned away before Morgan could do something he knew he’d regret, like whap his brother upside his thick head with the end of his staff. Sea and wave, Brevaer thought Morgan was capable of nothing but idiocy, didn’t he? Sometimes Morgan wondered whether his brother cared for him at all, or whether Morgan was nothing but an enormous thorn in his foot.
“It isn’t fair,” Garen agreed quietly later on, once the class was over. “He’s very hard on you, but …” He shrugged. “The ones who love us the most are also the hardest on us.”
“Of course, you think that,” Morgan muttered, cramming a yam patty into his mouth and chewing desultorily. Ugh, no seaweed sauce. Bland.
Garen looked away. “I know it doesn’t mean as much coming from me, but … your brother had to learn to be not just brother but father and mother to you after what happened before. It had to be difficult.”
“I know.” And that was the only reason Morgan wasn’t fighting against this stupid edict any harder. “I just wish it wasn’t so hard for him to show any feeling other than anger.”
“Well, there’s also impatience, disdain, worry …”
Morgan made to chuck a yam patty at Garen’s head, then thought better of it and set it aside beneath the edge of his kilt. If the man were still alive, he would probably be hungry.
It had been so hard not to get lost in thoughts of his illicit human all morning—if Morgan hadn’t been on the verge of driving his brother to insanity, he wouldn’t have been able to manage it at all. As it was … “What are you doing next?” he asked casually.
“I’m in the water-tactics-and-fighting class.”
Morgan grinned at the banked pride in his friend’s voice. “You’re training to fight in both forms! That’s great!”
Garen grinned back. “Mother tried to argue against it, but Brevaer won her over in the end. I’m looking forward to it. What about you?”
“Um …” Oh shit. What was a good excuse for him to head back out to the rocky beach? “I think I’m going to go for a run,” he said slowly. “It’s basic conditioning, I know, but it gives me a chance to clear my head. Besides, I might find something for a new art project along the way.”
Garen accepted the explanation like Morgan had been sure he would. “Just don’t run too far,” he said as he got up and reclaimed his staff.
“How far is too far?”
“Around the whole island.”
“That wouldn’t even take half the day!” It was true, their home was a speck of a place. For the first time, Morgan wished it were bigger, not for the sake of more variety, but because the thought of someone stumbling upon his human when Morgan wasn’t there was horrifying.
“Well … maybe not for someone else, but for you …”
Morgan threw sand at Garen, who laughed. “Go be muscular and leave me alone!” As soon as Garen was out of sight, Morgan got to his feet. He brushed off his tunic and wrapped his kilt firmly around his upper body, then loped out of the village at an easy jog. No one called out to him; no one even seemed to notice him. Perfect. As soon as he was out of sight of the village, he picked up the pace.
Two hundred feet later, he stopped, bent over at the waist, and nearly threw up his meal. Too fast! Maybe this really would do him some good if he was so damn out of breath after such a short distance. Once he was sure he could move without wanting to vomit, Morgan set out at a very mild jog toward the beach.
The closer he got, the more chaotic his emotions became. Would the human be there? Be dead? Be missing? What if he was cold, or too hot, or sick? Morgan didn’t know the slightest thing about keeping another living being alive, much less one that wasn’t Agnarra. If he was dead … Morgan’s heart panged for no good reason. He’d just met this strange, quixotic creature yesterday—it was far too soon to be thinking fond thoughts about him. Far too soon! And yet …
He arrived at the beach out of breath but no longer caring and stumbled over the rocky ground to the overhang where he’d left his human. Please let him be all right, please let him be all right, please, please … When he saw the man still there, the relief was nearly overwhelming. But was he breathing? Was he alive?
Before Morgan could lose his mind from uncertainty, the human opened his eyes. His starlight eyes were blue in the sunshine, and his charred hair was golden red where it wasn’t blackened by fire. He was even more beautiful now than before.
Then he opened his mouth and said, “Hello.”
Chapter six
Morgan almost fell into the water. The beautiful human even reached out to help steady him but ended up wincing and falling back against his seaweed bed. “Forgive me,” he said in a weak voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No! I mean, I wasn’t … or I was, but it’s not … um, never mind me,” Morgan finally settled on. “Listen to you! You can speak! And a civilized language at that!” He beamed at the human. “I didn’t know your kind could speak like an Agnarra.”
“I … Agnarra?”
“Ye-eees?” Morgan trailed off as he watched the man’s face for any sign of recognition. There was nothing there. Better try another tack. “Um, I’m Morgan. What’s your name?”
“My name? It’s …” The man’s eyes drifted away from Morgan as he looked inward, searching himself for his own identity. “I don’t … I don’t know.”
Morgan frowned. “You don’t remember your own name?”
“No.” He held up a partially burned hand, which wavered with weakness as he stared at it. “I … what happened to me?”
“You were a sailor on a human ship, I think,” Morgan said, careful not to give too much information. He wanted to trust this person, but Brevaer hadn’t been lecturing him nonstop on the evils of mankind for the past fifteen years for nothing. “There was a fire. You were the only survivor. You floated to this island, and I found you.”
“You saved me?”
Morgan smiled modestly. “I did.”
“And …” The human licked his chapped lips. “Are you the only one living here? I’ve been … drifting, I think, in and out of sleep. I kept expecting someone to come, but all I hear are the sounds of waves and the cries of gulls.”
Oh. Right. “Um. Ah. So …”
The human looked at Morgan with far too much discernment. “Are you the only one who knows I’m here?”
There was no point in lying about that. “Yes. And it should stay that way!” Morgan emphasized. “If you do hear anyone else coming around this beach, don’t call out to them! They won’t treat you … well,” he finished a bit unsteadily.
“Why not?”
“Because …” Morgan cast about for an answer that wouldn’t offend either the human or Morgan’s own sensibilities. “Because you’re not Agnarra. You’re human, and that means that technically, you’re trespassing on our lands.”
“But you pulled me from the sea, didn’t you? That makes your act one of mercy.”
“That is technically true,” Morgan allowed. “But I’m a very low-ranking member of my clan. No matter what I say about you, or about why I saved you, I’m not going to be listened to. And my people … let’s just say that we have no reason to think well of humans in general.”
“Oh.” The man stared at Morgan for a long moment without blinking, a tiny line between his eyebrows. “Then why did you save me?”
“Why did I—What, would you rather I had left you out in the ocean to be eaten by a pod of orcas?” Morgan demanded. Sea and wave, wasn’t anyone going to be on his side?
“Of course not.” That mollified him somewhat. “But I also don’t want to be the cause of any trouble for you.”
“Well, it’s too late for that!” Morgan said cheerfully. “My middle name is trouble—just ask my brother.” Or better yet, don’t. “And I don’t mean to let you cause any trouble for me, I assure you. I just want to get you feeling better. Once you’re well, I’ll figure out a way for you to go back to your own people.”
“That is extremely kind of you,” the man said. He seemed on the verge of saying more, but then a cough wracked his frame. A look of deep pain crossed his face, and a second later, blood bubbled up from between his lips.
“Oh no, no, what’s wrong?” Morgan reached out but didn’t dare touch for fear of making the pain worse. “Do you need water? I’ll get you water! Hang on!” He turned and ran for the nearest rain catch, scooped up water in his hands, and brought it back as fast as he could without spilling. “Here, here,” he said, scooting carefully along the rock wall until he was by the man’s head. “Drink this.” He tilted his hands but stopped just short of the human’s face, not sure how best to deliver the water given how the man was coughing.
A second later, the man reached out and grabbed Morgan’s wrist with his own shaking hand. He lowered his hands to his lips and drank greedily, and Morgan …
His mind blanked. He couldn’t do anything but stare as this strange person lapped water from his hands. It was uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t quite put a word to and alluring for a reason he didn’t dare think about too deeply.
“You’re very injured,” Morgan babbled as the man finished drinking. “I’m sure your burns are painful; you should let me get fresh seaweed for them.”
“That would be nice,” the human admitted with a little gasp as he let his head fall back. “And if perhaps you could find me something to eat …”
“Oh, I’ve got that!” Morgan reached into his kilt and pulled out the yam patty he’d sequestered during lunch with Garen. “Here. It’s kind of bland, but that’s probably best for you right now.” As the man took it with a shaking hand, Morgan wondered whether he ought to offer to feed it to him.
Then again, he might totally lose what little dignity he had if he hand-fed this curious, clever creature he’d pulled ashore. “You eat, and I’ll find new seaweed for your wounds.”
Morgan darted to the shore, kicked off his clothes quickly, and waded out into the surf. If he was quick, he could get all the seaweed he needed in one dive. He flowed into his dragon shape and began to hunt around for the right variety. It needed to be thin and supple but thick enough that it wouldn’t dry to the man’s skin before Morgan could change it. He could only imagine how painful it would be to have to pull stuck seaweed off burned skin.
He surfaced with his arms full of the slippery bounty, which he then had to set down again so he could put his clothes back on. Propriety, ugh. By the time he made it back, the human was done eating. He was also staring at Morgan with a look of shock on his face.
“You … you changed into a …”
“Oh. Oh!” Morgan hadn’t thought twice about changing, but then again, why would this man know anything about sea dragons when he didn’t even remember his own name? “That’s my other form. Did you … like it?” If the man said it scared or disgusted him, Morgan didn’t know what he would do.
“You looked glorious.”
Glorious? Glorious! Morgan had never been called “glorious” before, and he rather liked it. “Why, thank you,” he said with a little preening toss of his green hair. “I’m actually far less impressive than many of my clan.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.”
Morgan began to blush and hurriedly moved on to help change out the seaweed. “Your wounds are looking … pretty good, actually,” he said, surprised at how the edges were already receding. Who knew humans were such quick healers?
It had to be the seaweed. It had healing properties that worked wonders.
“They feel awful, so I’ll take your word for it.” The man smiled at him to let him know he wasn’t being too serious.
“What should I call you?” Morgan blurted out. “I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘the man’ in my head; it’s too distracting. What do you want your name to be?”
“I have no preference,” he said. “Really, I don’t. Pick something you like, and I’ll respond to it.”
Morgan looked consideringly at his companion. If there was one thing that stood out about him right now, injured and sick as he was, it was the brightness of his eyes. Not a fever brightness, but the blue of the sea, sparkling under the sunlight. “Auban,” he said at last. Bright.
The man smiled. “Then Auban I shall be.”
Chapter seven
For probably the first time in his life, Morgan was making his brother happy. It was a welcome but very weird feeling.
“You’ve been very dedicated to your training lately,” Brevaer said a week after Morgan named his hidden, human friend. “Mielin tells me you’ve been requesting more food too.” He plucked a yam patty up off the plate and waggled it before taking a bite.
“Ah …” Morgan felt his face heat. He should have guessed that the old woman would give him up. Mielin, who along with her daughters cooked meals for many of the single Agnarra in exchange for help maintaining her household and bringing her the best catches from the sea, was also the biggest gossip in the whole village. “Yes, I’ve been hungrier lately.”
“That’s all the running you’re doing.” Brevaer nodded approvingly. “Even your basic battle forms are improving.”
Morgan gave his brother a real smile at that. “Thank you.”
“It won’t be long before you can move up into the more advanced exercises.”
“Let’s not be too hasty!” Morgan held his hands out. “I’m still working on my endurance! I can’t even make it around the island yet without wanting to throw up!”
“Oh? That’s still better than how you used to get winded after a hundred feet. Why don’t you show me.” Brevaer got up from the floor and brushed his kilt free of crumbs.
“Um …” The truth was, while Morgan was actually running better—for a distance at least as far as the beach where Auban was hiding out—he hadn’t gone beyond that yet. The glint in his brother’s eyes made it clear that he wasn’t going to let Morgan get out of this, though. “Sure, let’s do that. But, ah, let’s bring Garen too!”
