Sea of Strangers

by Erica Cameron

  No. My chest tightens, and I press my thumbs deeper into Tessen’s skin. I can’t think about that place until I have some idea how long it’ll be before I can try to rescue Yorri.

  Try. Again. For a third time.

  “Horizon was…too bright,” Tessen manages to say. “Not night. Midday, maybe.”

  “We could still find land today.” Etaro bit eir full bottom lip, eir concave cheeks sucking in deeper. The words are hopeful. Eir expression isn’t.

  “Do you really want to get there?” Rai asks something I’ve been thinking, but haven’t said.

  We’re headed to Ryogo—a land I believed I’d only see in death—and it isn’t going to look or feel anything like I expected. The realization has hit me in bits and pieces over the past two weeks, like sporadic grains of sand at the beginning of a dust storm. And like those small strikes, it’s become more uncomfortable—nearly unbearable—the longer it goes on. The closer we get to the real Ryogo.

  “Even with what we stole from Itagami, we’ll run out of food soon.” Sanii doesn’t look away from the window. “Either we find land or we starve.”

  I look at the empty plate sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. A few hours ago, those of us who could stomach food shared a meal smaller than what one of us ate back home; Sagen sy Itagami’s kitchens only ever rationed us during the worst of desert droughts. The city where the clan we abandoned lives. Where Yorri is hidden. Where we thought we’d remain our whole lives.

  Until Osshi hauled me out of the ocean, I didn’t know anywhere but Shiara existed. Even now, even knowing there has to be another land, it’s hard to convince myself we won’t either fall off the side of the world or find ourselves facing the mountains of Shiara’s southern shore. Yorri was the only person I knew who had guessed there might be something beyond our island.

  Tessen’s fingertips lightly brush my forearm. Even through the cloth of my long-sleeved tunic, I can feel his body heat and the softness of the gesture. The ridiculous boy is reading my emotions again.

  “Stop it.” I don’t bother whispering. The room is barely big enough for us all to sit without touching, so everyone will hear, even with the storm in the background. “You’ve got enough to worry about without adding me.”

  “I’m always…worried about you.” He swallows hard when the ship shudders, but a little of the strain has eased from his wide-set, narrow eyes. Maybe the pressure points are helping. “When I stop paying attention, you…go and do something ridiculous. Like trying to take on the bobasu alone.”

  “She wasn’t ever alone in that.” Sanii turns to glare at Tessen.

  “Yes, but it’s the Miriseh, Sanii,” Etaro says, not unkindly. “Khya’s wards may be able to hold against them for a while, but unless you’re as invulnerable as they are—”

  “You might as well offer your throat for them to cut.” Rai, as always, goes straight for the point Etaro was circling. “It’d be less painful than fighting.”

  Sanii opens eir mouth. I hold my breath, waiting to see if ey will finally mention eir strange magic. The secret was fine at first—ey didn’t know or trust my squad—but it’s been almost two weeks now.

  I almost laugh with relief when Sanii extends eir arm and stares challengingly at Rai. “I’m not as helpless as you think.”

  Eir hand, and for the first time just eir hand, begins to glow. The light, initially a faint white glow over eir beige-brown skin, grows brighter until it’s so strong I have to look away. I turn to Rai, waiting for her reaction.

  “Huh. Well, the Miriseh—bobasu—whatever.” Rai waves off the mistake. “They definitely didn’t know you can do that.”

  “What is that?” Etaro leans in, eir narrow face alight. The ship pitches. We all brace—and Tessen and Rai grunt—but when we level out, Etaro reaches out again, hovering over Sanii’s hand without touching. “There’s no heat.”

  “It’s light, not fire,” I say before I can stop myself.

  “You— No. Right.” Annoyance sparks in Rai’s round eyes. “Of course you knew, and of course you didn’t tell us.”

  I don’t need the warning tap of Tessen’s fingers on the inside of my wrist. This time, I let Sanii answer for emself.

  “It wasn’t Khya’s secret to tell.” Sanii’s light vanishes. “I asked her to keep quiet, and because she takes her promises seriously, she did until I was ready to trust you.”

  “Trust us to what?” Etaro asks.

  Sanii turns back to the window. “To not look at me like you’re scared.”

  “Of what?” Rai asks, scoffing. “Light?”

  “Something different,” Sanii says.

  “Different isn’t scary, it’s weird.” The ship dips. We all brace. Rai grimaces, but quickly starts speaking again, as though she’s desperate for the distraction. “Besides, it’s light. What’s there to be scared of?”

  Sanii glances at her, shrugs, and looks back to the storm. It’s not the whole story, but the sumai ey managed to create with my brother is a special, private thing. Forging a soulbond should’ve been impossible for anyone but one of the Miriseh, according to what they taught us about magic, and it can only be performed once. The second time a soul splits, it’s a deathblow. So the light isn’t Sanii’s whole story, but what ey’s hiding won’t hurt them.

  The ship tilts hard. I slap my hands on the wall over Tessen’s head to keep from crashing into him. Someone above us screams. The ship’s creaking groans are suddenly deafening.

  “Oh no.” Tessen’s horror-wide eyes are fixed on the ceiling. “Wards, Khya!”

  I tense, my heart pounding as I create an invisible energy shield around everyone. Less than a second before the small window shatters.

  Water pours in. Sanii screams. I clench my fists and push my ward back to the wall of the ship, shoving as much water as I can back into the ocean. And watching at least one of our bags go with it.

  Bless whatever piece of luck or fate made me a fykina mage instead of sykina—if my shields could only protect against magic, we’d be dead now.

  Closing my eyes, I mentally feel for my wardstones, the power-filled crystals I use as anchors. When we fled Shiara, I hid them all over the ship in case Varan chased us across the ocean. This isn’t how I planned on using them, but I can’t shield a ship as large as a building without them.

  Vicious storms over-excite the desosa. The elemental energy created and used by everything in the world fuels magic, and it can make a mage more powerful—if they’re capable of using it. Attempting it when the desosa is this chaotic, though, is dangerous. Life threatening. Most mages don’t survive it.

  I’ve done it before, though. More than once.

  Pulling in as much of the desosa as I can without turning my brain to charcoal, I activate the hidden wardstones. My ward stretches, growing from each stone in a snap until the sections meet and merge. The connections spark like fire in my mind; each enhances my awareness of the ship. I can feel exactly what’s trying to break through. And where.

  My heart pounds. My head buzzes. My hands shake. “The hull is broken. A deck below us. Water’s trying to break in.”

  “That’s mostly supplies, right?” Etaro looks down. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “How should I know?” I snarl. Another wave tilts the ship beyond what the hull can bear. Another too-loud groan of wood and metal as the only thing holding us above the water tries to shatter.

  The weight of the waves against my wards is immense. Keeping the water out without squashing one of the crew between my wards and the hull is so hard it hurts. Chest aching and lungs burning, I try to breathe normally instead of panting for air. My vision is fuzzy on the edges and my brain buzzes. I’ve never tried to make my wards impervious to water while allowing people through. I can’t hold this balance for long, either. There’s another option, but…

  I’ve always used my wards to either protect or to trap. Using them to reinforce a non-magical barrier? I don’t know if it’s possible. None of my training
taught me how to merge magic with something solid; usually I use it to shove physical things out of the way.

  Remembering how I tweaked my wards when we escaped from Imaku, I imagine I’m shaping them like a blacksmith shapes metal. I press my shield toward the hull, pushing water out of cracks and broken windows until the wards meet wood. Keeping the water in the ocean is like trying to carry the weight of a dozen people. It should be impossible—it’s too much pressure for one person to bear—but I will not let this beat us. I promised I’d go back for Yorri and, bellows and blood, I am not going to break my vow.

  I suck in more of the desosa and focus. Molding my magic, I fit it within the cracks and seams and joints of the wooden ship. Overhead and under, I create a dome to protect us from the worst swells.

  We’re still tossed heedlessly, but now my wards take the beating. I take the beating. I’m being compressed, the water and the wind and the rain and the sky and the desosa and the fury of the storm all pressing closer, as though it’s becoming a solid thing trying to crush me to dust. The force of it builds. Sound fades. Pain shoots between my clogged ears every time I clench my jaw. Someone puts his hand on my shoulder; I can barely feel it.

  Holding my breath, I count to ten. I have to let go of my wards. Just for a moment. Have to. The pressure is too much and it’s going to—

  Everything stops.

  The ship lurches and then rights itself, gently rocking with the small swells of a calm sea. Wind that’s been a constant noise in the background for days dies away. The pressure of the waves against the hull vanishes so fast I almost collapse without the weight as a counterbalance.

  “Oh, thank the M—” Tessen bites off the word.

  Thank the Miriseh.

  Miriseh bless it.

  Save us, Miriseh.

  The oaths are automatic—phrases we’ve used and believed our entire lives. I’ve said them more than once since we left Itagami. It’s only been twelve days or so, if I’m right about how long we’ve been lost in the storm. Compared to the seventeen previous years, it’s nothing, but I’ve gotten angry at myself every time their name brushes my lips. I can almost see the same thoughts passing through Tessen’s mind now.

  On Shiara, they are the Miriseh, the immortals.

  In Ryogo, they’re called the bobasu, the exiles.

  Tsua, Chio, and Zonna named themselves the andofume, those denied death.

  Whatever the word, it means the same thing, and when we land, there isn’t much of a chance any Ryogans will see us as anything but the descendants of monsters, ones that, for them, fell into legend centuries ago.

  That’s assuming we get there alive.

  The storm has quieted, but below the waterline there’s more than enough pressure to test my wards. I can hold the ocean out for a while, but even with the wardstones as an anchor, a while might not be much longer.

  “I need to check with Osshi and Kazu.” I swallow and stand, trying to still my shaking hands. “They need to know where the worst damage is.”

  Tessen watches, his full lips pursed. It’s likely he wants to come, but his skin is beaded with sweat, and his gray eyes are glassy. If he tries to get up, I’ll push him down and make him rest. Now that the ship has stopped rocking so violently, he might be able to sleep.

  “I’ll go with you.” Etaro stands and crosses the room. “I can help with repairs.”

  A little of the frustration eases out of Tessen’s face.

  Oh. He still thinks I don’t know when or how to ask for help.

  I may take too many risks, but I’m not a fool. The crew could use Etaro’s help. Ey’s a rikinhisu, and eir power is our second-best chance at quickly patching the damage. Tsua is the first, but the andofumes’ door is open and the room is empty, so all of them are probably already helping. Before we hit the stairs, I check on Miari and the others; thankfully, the only damage is a few bruises and scrapes, some lost supplies, and a puddle of water on the floor.

  Despite how it felt belowdeck, the world is far from calm. The sky is obscured by storm clouds, and the brine-laden wind bellows over the ship hard enough to force us to lean into it to walk. The roll of the sea is why it felt so quiet below. The high, crashing waves we faced during the worst of the storm are gone. It’s become a rhythmic slap that’s eerily steady.

  No, not eerie. Good. We need quiet and calm so we can make repairs. But the suddenness of it is still unnerving.

  Osshi and Taikan-yi Kazu are easy to find; both surveying the deck from the front platform. Every few seconds, Kazu shouts orders, his sharp gaze scanning his ship and crew.

  “That storm wasn’t natural,” Kazu says as we close in, his gaze fixed on the southern horizon, which is a solid line of dark clouds and flashing lightning. “This ship should’ve been able to weather a storm. It has before.”

  “It fared worse than you know.” I tell him what happened and point him toward the holes that, if not patched before I fall straight into a dead sleep, will sink the ship. Kazu gives me a wary glance, but he shifts his crew to those repairs. Etaro offers to assist, and Kazu agrees. Kazu clearly isn’t going to turn away a useful tool just because he doesn’t like it.

  “That was you, Khya?” Osshi waves his hand overhead, his expression pinched. “The water rose over our heads but didn’t touch us, and the wind—”

  “Yes. The ship was breaking apart, Osshi. I had to use my wards.”

  He closes his eyes, shuddering. “Kaisubeh forgive us.”

  I saved your life. Biting my tongue is harder every time I see him react like this to magic.

  On Shiara, Tsua created a bridge for us to cross a ravine, magically lifting wide, flat stones and holding them in midair for us to walk over. I’d thought Osshi’s collapse when his feet hit solid land was from a fear of heights, but it’s become clear his fear is of magic, of anything more than the most basic usage. Because the Kaisubeh forbid it is the only explanation he’s given.

  “I’m grateful, Khya,” Kazu says. “I don’t think the ship would’ve survived without you. And without Etaro and Tsua, this work would take twice as long.”

  Osshi has been teaching us Ryogan—the spoken and written language—since we left Shiara. Their tongue is similar to Itagamin, which helps, but sometimes it’s a struggle to mentally sort through my three languages—Itagamin, Denhitran, and now Ryogan—before speaking.

  “We’re on this ship, too, Kazu.” I smile, hoping it looks more genuine than it feels. I can’t tell if he trusts us, especially since he hasn’t done anything to stop the fearful whispers of his crew, but I ignore my own nerves and try to reassure his with a joke. “It wouldn’t be smart of us to let the ship crack, would it? I can’t swim.”

  Kazu smiles, but a shout from across the deck pulls his attention away before he answers. I watch him walk away, anxiety condensing in my stomach.

  The men on this ship—and, oddly, his crew is only men—saw where we came from. They know a little of why we needed to flee Shiara and saw the kind of power we’re running from—that we’re trying to protect their homeland from—yet they still don’t trust us. Except for Osshi and Kazu, the Ryogans have mostly kept themselves apart, watching us with wariness if not stark fear.

  Tsua and Chio have warned us that peoples’ fear will only be worse on Ryogo, but it could, they think, help us.

  To kill Varan, we have to figure out how he made himself immortal, and if we want to know that, we have to head to the mountains beyond Uraita, the village where Varan and Chio were born. Centuries ago, Chio followed his brother into the mountains, to a spot where Varan liked to hide things he didn’t want anyone else to find. Including, we hope, information on his hunt for immortality.

  The andofume’s theory is that none of our goals should be hard to meet when so few people in Ryogo are warriors. Even fewer are mages. They can’t fight us. Most of them will be afraid to try.

  It’s good, I remind myself, facing the northwestern horizon. Ryogo is out there somewhere, and it’s hiding what I
need to free my brother and unravel the bobasu’s plan. Varan’s secrets are either well guarded or long destroyed, but the Ryogans can’t plan for everything.

  Lucky for us, magic is one thing they won’t see coming.

  Chapter

  Two

  Overnight, the solid line of land slowly grows thicker on the horizon, but only Tessen and Tyrroh can see anything other than flickering lights and the solidity of something that isn’t water. At dawn, the sun—its light almost as soft as the glow of a cooking fire—reveals the land I once thought the Miriseh were the keepers of.

  Varan and the others have lied about almost everything, but maybe not Ryogo.

  Spread out before us is a vast, lush land, greener than I’ve ever seen. No amount of rain would ever transform our desert island into land as fertile and verdant as this. It’s all somehow soft, too. The mountains rising high above the coast don’t have bare rock or ragged points and edges; their curves and slopes are covered with green that, from a distance, looks like it would be soft as a niora fur mat.

  “Is that supposed to be a wall?” Sanii points north of where I’ve been looking. As I run my thumb along the red cord around my wrist, I follow eir gaze.

  “If it was once, it isn’t anymore.” The massive pieces of stone standing upright on the coast might be taller than Itagami’s walls, but there are massive gaps between them. “I have a hard time believing that ever protected anyone.”

  “Wait,” Osshi says as he joins us. “You’ll see when we get closer.”

  Soon, I do see. It’s not a broken wall, it’s a row of enormous statues, a line of stone people. Fourteen of them.

  “The Kaisubeh Zohogasha. The guardians.” Osshi touches his three middle fingers to his forehead, his chest, and then his lips, almost like a salute. “They were erected a decade after the bobasu’s exile. The seven facing the ocean shield Ryogo, and the seven facing land bless it. There are Zohogasha sets along the entire coast, but these were the first. Intended to watch the bobasu’s prison and guard against their return.”