Beneath the Eqe Aqawe
Sometimes, inside, he wondered what it would be like to never again see the ship, to never again stand on the decks. It hurt, but he held himself to it, as if preparing for that sort of pain would make it any easier, as if one could anticipate the losing of a part of oneself. Every time he stepped foot in Anaxas, there was that prickle of fear down his spine - remembered whispers from the Turtle, of imbali before him who had vanished in Anaxas or Bastia or Hesse. Gated, they called it here.
And those imbali? Had they had someone to stand behind them, someone whose voice would be heard? Aremu knew - he knew - that Uzoji would not leave him here to rot in captivity, that Uzoji would move the six kingdoms if he could, to bring him home. Would it be enough? Aremu had never left the ship in Brunnhold, the scant times they had gone; he had chosen to keep those metal walls between himself and beyond, and had scarcely ventured to see its red stone. There was bravery and there was tempting fate, and Aremu did not wish to find the line between them.
Like a dream of being free. Aremu thought of storm-tossed nights, of frantic work on a red-hot engine, the smell of burnt skin in the air. He thought of hanging above the propeller, trusting to his harness, whistling through the sky. He thought of sitting with his feet hooked through the chainmail of the balloon, watching the sun set in the distance, glorious gold and pink and red spilling over the sky, yielding to the deeper colors of the night.
Aremu was not sure what sort of answer Tom had expected; he doubted that he had given it. When the other man spoke, he surprised Aremu too - the roughness in his voice, the odd almost-tenderness of the question. Aremu turned to look at him, but Tom was tangling his fingers in that long thick dark hair of his, studying the ship.
Debts, Aremu thought, curiously. Was that what he wished to be free of? He wondered; he did not think so. Not all debts were painful to bear. Aremu would not have wiped away those that bound him to Uzoji and Niccolette, not even if he had known how. He wondered what it was that weighed Tom down, that kept him here on the ground; he wondered if it was that he had never had the chance to fly, or if he did not wish to.
Debts, Aremu thought. Obligations left behind from one’s choices. There was always a choice, wasn’t there? Go to Thul’Amat, or else to the Turtle. Break a woman’s heart now with his refusal, or else later with his failings. Take to the skies, or else keep his feet on the ground. And whatever he chose, there would be a debt, but one he had made by his own hand. One he had chosen.
Only a dream after all, Aremu thought, but no less sweet and no less bitter for it.
What debts had Tom traded away, and what debts had he incurred? A man’s life stretched out before him like an accounting ledger, debits and credits, but none that could be balanced.
Aremu knew he ought to look away, but he lingered, a moment more, and Tom glanced back at him and grinned, warm and friendly, a crowding of messy teeth glinting in the light of the dock yard, and Aremu grinned back. He did not move closer - he would not burden the man so - but he felt as if he had, even only slightly. That grin was a gift he had not expected, and he was grateful for it.
“What do you dream of?” Aremu asked, his voice low and almost soft. He thought of looking away again, of turning his gaze back to the ship to set Tom at ease, but he did not - not yet - choosing instead to let Tom decide when to do it.