[Closed] Of Sleep and Soothsayers

[Ezre Vks]

Over Dark Sands

some unfortunate hour on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

Maybe it was a comfortable benefit to have selected a shared sleeping cabin nestled just close enough to the airship's engines that the hum of them carried through the walls in some primal, relaxing fashion. Then again, maybe it wasn't exactly an extremely prudent idea to have chosen a shared sleeping cabin for the three of them simply from a personal logistics perspective—there were quite a few awkward realizations to cramming three different people into a small bunk-filled room, no matter how quaint the little side tables and small curtained circle of a window might have been. Thankfully, there wasn't an unexpected fourth guest, Ezre having assured their illusion of privacy with his choice of ticket purchases, but that didn't necessarily make everything entirely less awkward.

Two students, free of their long year of education, free from supervision, and free from social expectation had a habit of talking too long, especially considering one of them was Lilanee Kuleda and the young Guide seemed unwilling to resist entertaining any of her questions or conversation topics. What seemed like frivolity on the otherwise stoic Hoxian's part was a generous endurance, Ezre aware that arrival in his homeland would be a culture shock for the Hessean and aware of the immediate cultural requirements that would soon be placed upon himself and his own behavioral choices. He gave the young woman her opportunity of expression and perhaps selfishly enjoyed his own—within the comfortable limitations of his well-honed rhakor, of course—all because he knew what to expect. He knew what would change in a matter of days, and this in-between time of leaving Anaxas behind before entering Hox was a restful gift.

Mostly.

He did take the time to lay out his warnings, his guidelines, tangling it all in his language lessons, but he also allowed himself the distraction of the company he'd invited when he wasn't sneaking in a nap or tucking in a snack. He genuinely enjoyed both the raen and the Hessean, and while he was aware of their often extreme differences, it was difficult to dwell on them after their shared experiences, shared consciousnesses, and shared strangenesses.

Sure, the first evening had perhaps been a small, embarrassing disaster of whispered conversation between Ezre and Lilanee that carried on far later than it should have, that dissolved into chagrined giggles, and that finally ended in a very noisy, very ridiculous escape from the small bunked room to some less occupied, more secretive corner of the small but fashionably designed airship so as to not keep the not-Incumbent awake or further annoyed by their youthful shenanigans. And again, the pair also had to return to actually sleep, so, well, that was just another lesson learned.

Everyone thankfully made decidedly better choices the next evening, and while there was still quite a bit of whispering, sleep was far easier the second night of their journey once the initial giddiness of traveling had settled, just a little, and a long day of watching the shifting desert of Mugroba pass below them. Maybe there'd been a few excess whispers, but, eventually silence fell in the small, cramped sleeper cabin with its somewhat narrow bunks and stiff, carefully pressed sheets.

It was an odd sort of sensation to be reached for through scrying when asleep, though perhaps at this point to one Hexxos Guide, it wasn't so unfamiliar anymore, even if that truth was based on very different experiences and very different states of consciousness.

Ezre.

Just a few more minutes—

—no, child. This cannot wait.

"Umah."

The Hoxian stirred, dark eyes snapping open in the dark room, speaking too loudly and fumbling for his collection of seerstones he kept, half-awake, grasping at the sudden connection that was like cold water poured through his skull in urgency, the weight of his mother's presence settling firmly into his well-defined vestibule with all the force of someone in a hurry,

"One moment, please."

Grumbled the younger thing, rolling from the cozy little bunk with all the grace of someone who'd much rather still be asleep, distracted in the effort he put forth in concentrating on finding his mental footing in Lreya's mind. Still for a moment, he pressed his forehead against the tousled covers now tossed over the side of the bunk, Monite spoken as quietly as possible, Clairvoyant field ebbing and flowing etheric as he strengthened their scried connection with a spell of his own. Then, carefully, he tried to navigate his way through the small room in the dark. He was noisy, bumping into things, smashing a shin against that annoyingly cute side table with a hiss, and fumbling for the door to slip out into the hall, making every effort to close it quietly and totally failing miserably,

Was there an issue, child?

"No. Not of the sort you are implying, mother." It was impossible to hide anything, though Ezre was perhaps grateful that no one—no one at this hour even in the space between cabins of sleeping galdori—could see the blush that heated his cheeks. Inked fingers curled into loose, long hair, shoving it all from his face even though he closed his eyes, consonant-heavy Deftung strangely more harsh when whispered, "Instead, there is a problem with travel?"

Yes. The weather, of course. Tuhir will make it to Frecks safely, but you will have to make a decision on the return route to Kzecka with your guests.

"I will pray for wisdom. You are concerned about the ability of my friends to endure the alternative passage should the weather continue to be foul upon our arrival This could not be predicted, and yet, I should have known.."

They are not used to the altitude, let alone the temperatures. You are responsible for their safety.

"I understand." A hint of indignant discomfort crept between the ley channel, filtering from the young Guide's latibule, seeping into their shared space. Estuan, muddied in his concern and still too loud for the hall left his tattooed lips before he caught himself, frowning. He was aware of his duties, his choices, and yet he worried it had been doubt he felt in his mother's words, "What are your suggested routes. Do we have options?"

[Tom Cooke]

Hurtling Toward the Unknown

A Sleepless Night on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

S
trange dreams you get in the air.

It was a small vessel. He was by now enough used to the shifting and rolling – like the snores of a sleeping beast – to have his sea legs quick enough. He had only been sick once, just before they’d got to Thul Ka; it was when they had descended through the mist of clouds, and the white outside the window had given way to the broad stretch of the city, all moving and shifting. He’d made a note to himself: mind both take-off and landing.

The days had been benny enough, for all that’d happened since Vortas. The small cabin was well-appointed and comfortable, if cramped, though less cramped than if he had been the man of his first life; small mercies. And full of light, the chill, crisp light of above-the-clouds, the window a circle of feathery blue.

Full of laughter, too, and the dancing caprise of fields, and a tangle of their three voices. It was strange; it was unexpected; it was strangely, unexpectedly pleasant.

He hadn’t known what to expect, sharing such close quarters with Ezre and Lilanee, not after the wrenching strangeness of mid-Vortas. He had thought, at first, that there was a lightness on their hearts he had not shared; a sense of sharing in which he could not wholly invest himself.

But that was the way of it, perhaps. He’d tucked himself into his corner of the cabin with his books, but the lass’ rambles soon tugged him creeping into the light, listening to fumbling Deftung lessons and sharing yats. His laughter was slow to join theirs, but it did; once, halfway through the first day, he’d snorted loudly enough to bring the conversation to a stunned halt.

After, he’d found himself chatting a little more freely; sharing stories, too. He found himself learning a bit of Deftung. He found that he planned to hold himself to his idle promise to teach the gollies Rooks, if only so they’d have something to do, snowed in halfway from Frecks.

Strange dreams, still, so close to the humming engine.

He’d snapped and snarled like a hatcher, but he’d been glad when they stumbled out, the first night, to do their yach elsewhere. There had been a pit in his stomach. He was not an easy sleeper. He knew, once, at least – he had dreamt –

It didn’t matter what he had dreamt. He’d woken with words on his tongue – move an inch, an’ I’ll gut ye like a fuckin’ fish – growled into the sheets, twisted up in his sweaty fist. He’d woken to deathly quiet, but he’d thought the bochi must’ve come back by then.

If they’d heard anything of his troubled sleep, they’d said nothing. Perhaps they hadn’t; perhaps they had. He was grateful, at least, that they seemed not to mind.

On the second night, his head ached like the beat of a drum. He couldn’t sleep; he hadn’t planned to. But he lay quiet, staring up at the framework of the top bunk, buried in toffin pillows. He’d wondered if perhaps he ought to go up above, if they’d mind if he lay on the deck and looked up at the stars. He smiled, at least, listening to the creak of the wood and the hum of the engine.

He’d heard them whispering and giggling, Lilanee’s never-ending cascade of questions, Ezre’s patience and delicacy. The second night, over the shifting desert, they were trying to be quiet for him.

Nanabo, he’d thought, listening to the whispers peter out. It’d been a determined quiet, at first, punctuated by giggles, an errant question and a hsshhh. Then, heavier, sleep, as if it couldn’t help claim them. The mona drifted, physical and clairvoyant; he lay looking up, smiling against the tightness in his heart.

So he wasn’t asleep when he heard the first groan of Deftung, hard consonants made slushy and slurry by sleep. He raised his brows, though he kept his eyes shut. Thump, clatter; he heard Ezre fumbling his way out of his bunk. He expected another voice, but none came. Then: a whispered invocation. The mona stirring, air thin and warming, etheric.

The door to the hall shut.

He was in his shirtsleeves as he climbed cat-quiet out of his own bunk; he reached round in the dark with trembling hands, braced shaky legs on the floor, found familiar edges in the dark. His head still ached. Taking a deep breath, he began buttoning his shirt, but abandoned it halfway, cursing under his breath. He froze.

More Deftung, from the hall. He glanced up, through the filtering moonlight, toward the lump in the bunk opposite him.

No movement.

Careful-like, he edged to the door, opening it and shutting it behind him. “Options?” he said softly, into the dark narrow hall. He couldn’t see much in the dark; just a shape. He felt the brush of a clairvoyant field, and reached out for a caprise, friendly but firm.

“Something amiss, Ezre-xi?” he rasped.

[Ezre Vks]

Over Dark Sands

some unfortunate hour on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

The hall lined with comfortable sleeper cabins was purposefully kept in duller lighting to encourage rest while the rest of the smaller, streamlined airship was bright and tastefully decorated in rather conservative and obviously Hoxian fashion. Ezre didn't want to wander into the lighter common areas, quite sure doing so would ruin him for returning to sleep anytime soon and hardly aware of the hour—his pocket watch still nestled in the pocket of his coat, folded neatly in their cabin. Leaning against the lacquered wood between doors, he closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate, dark lashes heavy while he visualized Lreya's Clairvoyantly-projected words. Inked fingers turned his scrystone over in his hands, weighing choices, and her voice drifted through his mind even if it felt like she was speaking next to him,

Once you get high enough, the cable car down to Kzecka should be fine, if not a bit rattled by wind, but the most-often traveled tunnels are currently closed. Tuhir suggests the western pass, but that means a little less than half a day of full winter exposure. The shelter at the top of the peak is kept well and is a quick climb to the cableway. The less-used tunnels would be warmer, but they are a longer route to the same shelter.

"Yes, I will have to—oh—wait—" Not at all expecting anyone to emerge from any room, let alone his, to say that Ezre was startled would have been an understatement. Eyes closed, mind occupied, the gentle but sudden caprise of Tom's blossoming, focusing field caught the tired Guide completely off-guard. His eyes snapped open and while the brief flash of a smile mingled with the surprise in his delicate features, it was also tangible in his etheric, occupied field. He reached out his free hand in the narrow hall to rest a palm on the man's bicep warmly, asking him wordlessly to wait, "—you woke the raen, mother."

At least one word was obvious, even in Deftung, and given the Hoxian's tone of voice, he was clearly teasing his own parent just because the moment had presented itself.

Good. You can make decisions together, yes? I will trust your conclusion. Please do not forget to tell your father who is waiting eagerly for all of you. Lreya didn't even bring up the Hessean, but Ezre chose not to question why.

"Zjai. We will travel safely. Otsur is not the only one who is eager." Waiting for a final sort of confirmation from his mother, the sensation not one of annoyance so much as continued urgency, her child sighed at the severing of their connection. Shoulders sagged with a yawn and a gentle shake of his head, long, loose hair flowing with the movement. Ezre had kept his hand where it was, squeezing in an expression of kindness. Finally addressing Tom as the Clairvoyant mona in his field seemed to relax with his body, his whispered response was not quite as deadpan as usual, unwilling to bother hiding his feelings on the matter,

"The weather is, as usual in my home, complicating our travel." He straightened, fingers sliding away to adjust the loose cotton shirt with its voluminous sleeves that usually served as his innermost layer beneath more colorful clothing. It was, much like the not-galdor's shirt buttons, half-tied, and he curled toes of his bare feet into the carpet of the hall, "It is important enough to be discussed now, instead of waiting. What my father and I are used to as natives is very different than yourself and Lilanee, physically speaking—"

He courteously chose not to specifically point out the assumed limitations someone could reasonably make of the borrowed Anaxi galdor politician's physique that Tom currently wore as his own, especially considering Ezre's personal insight into muscle tone and sore places. He wasn't particularly sure of the Hessean's athleticism, either, though her father had made sure she had some travel experience already in her young life. The tattooed student made some frustrated noise full of consonants, knuckles kneading at the dark lines that marked the tawny skin of his chest,

"Did I wake you, Tom—or—were you already awake? Either way, it is for the best at this moment. I do not feel comfortable making this decision without some sort of discussion first, so—tcch—tea, then? I am sure the dining hall is practically empty at this hour—whatever time it is, anyway. Late. Early. Something." Another unamused yawn interrupted his words, "I think will get paper and my coat first."

He could have also chosen to wake up the redheaded young woman still asleep, but there was something in his tone that made it clear he didn't intend to do so. Not because he didn't value her opinion so much as he had no doubt of her enthusiasm, regardless of what route they chose. She was also a physical sorcerer, and he knew she'd be able to add some magical warmth to their travels, no matter which path they used to get to the humble waypoint high above Kzecka.

"You can, of course, choose to go back to bed." It was almost an apology from Ezre, though he couldn't deny the urgency of making sure his guests, who he both cared for without question, traveled safely anywhere in his homeland. He moved to slip back into their room as quietly as possible, glancing toward the raen as if to ask whether he could hold the door for him or whether he wanted any of his clothes or belongings.

[Tom Cooke]

Hurtling Toward the Unknown

A Sleepless Night on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

H
e fell silent at the hand on his arm. More Deftung, then; in the dim corridor, he couldn’t see much, though he squinted for a seerstone – or anything – in the Hexx’s inked hand. He caught the word raen, he thought, and he lifted an eyebrow. If he felt a self-conscious prickle at the back of his neck at being talked-about, it was too dark to see the faint splotches of color in his cheeks, or his irritated blink.

Somebody in Kzecka, then, if he hadn’t already guessed from the Deftung. There was something deferential in Ezre’s voice, too, some tone Tom hadn’t heard in the few days he’d shared a bunk with the two teenagers –

Umah. Had he heard right? He glanced back at the door to their cabin, slightly ajar, then back at the Hexx, his profile edged with the light that drifted in from the other side of the hall. He still couldn’t make out an expression.

Even etheric, the clairvoyant particles mingling with his were friendly-warm. It’d become second nature, this casual caprising, with all that woobly swimming together in the small space. The clairvoyant mona knew each other, like cats that’d learned to get along.

Rhakor aside, he couldn’t hear urgency in Ezre’s Deftung. Still, he could feel tension in the line of his back, in the knot of his shoulders, as if all the relaxation of the past few days had been waiting to spring back tightly-coiled. He didn’t relax – not even as the thinness in the air evened out; not even as the mona settled back down around them, and the sharp tang of the arcane on his breath ebbed. Not even as Ezre’s hand slipped off his arm, and the Hexx finally spoke Estuan.

Weather. Ezre might’ve heard the catch of his breath; some shift shuddered through his field. Before he could demand to know what the hell that meant, or why, Ezre was continuing on.

Nevertheless, he was sharply conscious of the creak of boards underneath them, and the subtle movement of everything – of the walls, the floor, the bright Hoxian wallpaper turned wine-dark in the shadows. He’d heard of aero ships cleft to pieces by strong enough winds; of small vessels hurled through mists into unexpected peaks, impaled on shark-tooth rocks.

Or forced to make emergency landings in the wilderness. This time of year, it’d be bone-chilling cold even in lower Hox. His mind galloped ahead. When he was a lad, he’d heard a story about an airship crew that got stranded in the mountains near Caroult. But because they didn’t know where they were – didn’t know the city was right round the bend – they’d run out of food and been forced to laoso ends…

Oh, fuck it.

He was gritting his teeth hard. “Physically speaking,” he muttered through them, blinking, running a hand through his hair.

He might’ve let it slip by, if not for the twinge of embarrassment he felt. After Frecks, he reckoned, Ezre meant. The climb up into the Spondolas. Being honest, he hadn’t been sure what to expect in the first place; he couldn’t picture Frecks, much less anything after. He’d scarce seen mountains, much less Hoxian ones.

He let out a sigh. “I was already awake,” he said, as if Ezre hadn’t already known. “Best talk it over now. I don’t think I’ll have any more luck at sleeping now than I did earlier.”

Oughtn’t they wake the lass? He reckoned not, but he wasn’t sure; Ezre hadn’t brought it up. He held the door open, quiet and polite; Tom took it, poking his head back into the cabin as the Guide went for his things. There was still a lump in the top bunk, the watery moon– and starlight from the window catching on mussed coppery curls that poked out of a mess of blankets.

He sidled round Ezre, squinting in the gloom. He had more luck doing up his shirt, this time. He found Anatole’s green housecoat among the blankets, still, a darker shape than the rest. He took it, then slipped quietly back out to the hall, throwing it round his shoulders.

As soon as he heard the soft click of the door behind the Hexx, he turned. “I don’t understand.” His voice was a grating whisper. “Was that your umah? What’s the problem? Shouldn’t Lilanee know about this?”

He paused, hissing a curse as he fumbled his arm through one sleeve. He shivered; he hadn’t bothered to put on shoes, but he was grateful for the thick, heavy housecoat, with its soft brocade and its fur lining.

“Tea, maybe,” he murmured. “I could do with some kofi, being honest. And whether the dining hall’s empty or not, I doubt they’ll think us any moonier than they already do.”

[Ezre Vks]

Over Dark Sands

some unfortunate hour on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

Maybe the airship swayed a little, caught for some moment in a fleeting bit of winter turbulence, or maybe Ezre did, not completely awake and caught in a moment of his own inner turbulence instead. He caught that look, that unspoken question, Tom's slim, galdori fingers running through his yet-to-sleep disheveled hair and that clench of his delicate jaw, no matter how brief, impossible to miss.

Instead of giving an equally silent answer, the Hoxian opened the door quietly, letting the pair of them back inside, dark eyes drifting over the small room for his things, all of them folded and contained in tidy order in what he'd claimed as his space in the cabin. Simple felt slippers—a must when traveling, this pair well-worn—and his coat were tugged on in what little ambient light managed to illuminate the room. His satchel was still at the foot of his bunk and as he gently gathered it to his half-bare, tattooed chest, he bent and let his free hand reach to brush a few red curls from Lilanee's face, resisting the urge to wake her—

He made a choice, but he didn’t feel it was a selfish one so much as strategic. Quite aware of both the minds of his travel companions, whether anyone appreciated such knowledge or not, he attempted to wade through the middle of it with all the grace he could muster at the Circle only knew what house this was.

—And so he slunk back out into the hall, lithe and silent on soft soles, leaning against the door as he shut it behind him to muffle the sound. He lingered there, tilting his head in a way that kept all that thick, long hair from his face when he met the raen's pale gaze, "Zjai. It was Lreya. She must have heard from Tuhir while he travels to Frecks to meet us. The safest passage between Frecks and—oh—Lilanee—Tom—I—"

He shifted and paused, whispered words hitching with his breath as he slung his school bag over his shoulder and adjusted his few layers, standing awkwardly in the space between them, caught for a moment in his willfully exclusive decision-making. He inhaled slowly, exhaled slower still, and let his expression answer for him: it was soft but determined, aware of all Tom knew now of one young Hessean's talent for taking over conversation, no matter how important.

"—she will know."

He needed to think first. Ezre needed to talk this through.

The raen surely understood.

The young Guide shook his head gently, pushing from the threshold and reaching inked fingers up to attempt to twist his hair out of the way, up in some messy mockery of containment as he led the way down the hall without another word right away, sifting through all the things he could have said carefully,

"Considering we have left Mugroba, the kofi grounds are guaranteed to be fresh." His peace offering was given with such generous softness, with even the hint of an encouraging smile, brief and groggy. The sleeper cabins were mostly quiet at whatever hour this was, with a few quiet conversations and the brush of strangers' fields as the pair passed through the hall and the engines' rumbling hum grew blessedly less immediate and loud.

Rich carpet and lacquered, carved wood decorated the stairs that led up to the more social areas of the airship—the common seating, the dining cabin. Ezre didn't say anything else until he'd found them somewhere to sit, the lights purposefully dimmed and the shades to the thick glass windows drawn to invite passengers to consider resting instead. A trio of older Hoxian women sat in a far corner booth, steam curling from fresh tea while they played a game involving brightly painted floral cards and a lot of laughter. A lone Mugrobi man sat near one of the windows and he'd cracked open the curtain just enough to peer out into the night, several books on his table, one open, pen in hand.

Those were, however, the underdressed pair's only companions. Ezre chose another booth, closer to the loud, giggling old women with their long-drawn out consonants in accented Estuan and a few choice, heavy words in Deftung. Once settled in their seats, the dark-haired guide set his satchel down and waved a delicate hand at the young server, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as she was, inviting her over to order a single pot of kofi and two cups. He also snuck in a few snacks—y'nko; little pastries filled with barely sweet, starchy curd, cooked in molds to be the shape of miniature whales. She might have blinked a little, the other Hoxian taking in their not so subtle hints of interrupted sleep without judgment so much as familiarity, but nodded and left them without a smile or a frown.

The younger galdor sighed and leaned on one elbow on the table, curling into his thick wool coat and tucking his feet up (out of his slippers) to sit cross-legged in the booth, shoulders sagging. Dark eyes studied the raen across from him,

"The easiest and unfortunately safest passage from Frecks to Kzecka has been made more or less impassable by what I would call typical Hoxian weather. This is not abnormal, honestly, but it is not ... helpful. Right now. For us. You. Lilanee." He didn't say himself, of course, for the frigid weather and thin atmosphere were no strangers to the temple-born native who grew up in some of the most isolated crags of the Spondola Mountains,

"There are other routes to the small outpost that keeps the cablecars running all winter, but, there will be more—ah—exposure to the cold or more climbing or just more difficult expectations of participation in travel. We just have to discern the next best path to our first choice. Or, of course, I would not begrudge you if you decided to remain in Frecks." A little smirk, a sleepy yawn, and Ezre sat up to reach for his satchel, "The phrase easy route to Kzecka is somewhat of a misnomer, any way you look at it."

[Tom Cooke]

Hurtling Toward the Unknown

A Sleepless Night on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

S
he’ll know. Tom snorted softly and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything; he couldn’t dispute what lay unspoken here. As they padded side-by-side down the hall, he half considered pushing back, pushing harder – but then, it’d be a time til they reached Frecks, and he supposed what Ezre wanted tonight was somebody to talk it through with, not to make any final decisions with.

The Hexx was drawing his hair up into a messy dark bundle, fingers pale in the dark except for the inked black lines. When he looked over, the expression on his face wasn’t quite a smile; but he caught the glint of dark eyes, and he knew the words for what they were.

He nodded, slow, and looked down at the dark carpet. It was soft under the soles of his feet, and the airship boards creaked. A draught of air rustled the housecoat round his ankles, tugged at the hems of his trousers.

He shut his eyes briefly, breathing in the sharp thin air. He pushed down a little of the panic that kept trying to bubble its way up through him.

Being honest, he wasn’t sure he was any better for this than Lilanee. He wanted to remind Ezre of who he was, suddenly; of how little he’d been on these great belching sky-beasts, of how little he knew of travel or of weather, or even of mountains. Two years ago – less! – if you had asked him to picture a mountain, he’d’ve been able to muster up a few large, pointy hills, if that.

They padded up the stairs in the dark, emerged in the soft-lit dining cabin. The gold phosphor lamps had dark patterned shades; the low light still caught on rich lacquer. He remembered this place only faintly, as he hadn’t spent much time there – eating on an aeroship was harder, he thought wryly, than it might’ve seemed.

The first thing he heard was what sounded to him like a hiss of harsh consonants, and then, as they stepped out into the cabin, a cascade of giggles. Even this much light was more than his eyes had adjusted to; he squinted, and lagged a moment behind Ezre, scratching his head again. His hair was a tousled mess and his housecoat was rumpled – he was sure he must’ve looked like an angry owl blinking in the daytime – but the Hoxian dagka were deep in their game, and the other man was absorbed in his work.

Ezre guided them – wisely, he reckoned – away from the lone scholar with his spread of papers and his serious, downcast eyes. As they settled themselves, he caught a glance from one of the ladies, at Ezre more than at him. The glance didn’t linger; another card was laid, he heard a heavy whisper of Deftung, some quiet burbling talk – and then another burst of laughter.

“Impassable,” grunted Tom, scratching at his stubbly jaw. He glanced sideways at the shades; he could feel the chill coming off the thick glass behind, and he shivered, drawing his housecoat closer round him.

He smiled as best he could at the chipper chip of a server, and then smiled more genuinely at the cup of steaming black coffee she set in front of him. He drew it close to him, cradling his chilly hands round the lacquered clay.

Thoughts shuffled into his head again. This time, it wasn’t the blackened ruins of an airship half-buried in snow and scattered among crags; it was a cable car, the line snapped. He could imagine it: his leg in a splint, the three of them gathering dry wood in the numbing cold to make a fire. The smell of woodsmoke and blood.

He smelled something bitter and earthy instead. Steam curled up from the Hoxian ladies’ tea; his stomach growled. When his eyes came into focus, he was staring at a row of what looked like small pastry whales. He couldn’t remember the server bringing those out. He peered back up at Ezre, suspicious.

“What – what are our options? And what sort of – what sort of expectations?” he dared to ask, then, pushing back the thoughts of tourniquets and clawing hunger. He supposed the Spondolas weren’t a bad place to be an unbonded raen, at least.

He paused, hesitant. “That was really – her?” he asked, quiet, raising both eyebrows.

[Ezre Vks]

Over Dark Sands

some unfortunate hour on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

It just took one old woman's sideways glance to catch a glimpse of the dark ink drawn in careful lines under Ezre's skin for the laughter to subdue into a snigger, for those same eyes to dart away, back to the cards. The Hexxos knew the words whispered in Deftung, turning his back and dampening the divinipotent weight of his burgeoning field as if there was something about his presence that might have interrupted their enjoyment of their late-night entertainment even from two booths away. Delicate features twitched for just the briefest of moments, refusing to frown, slumping into his seat instead while the raen dressed in Anaxi skin did much the same, much to the deadpan second stare of one of the other elderly night owls.

The server was a welcome redirection, returning the ladies to their betting and chattering and making sure some kind of after midnight cravings would soon be satisfied.

"Zjai—oh." The dark-haired student whispered, waiting for what he'd anticipated being a question that never blossomed, tone of his voice expectant. Instead, the pair sat in silence for a few moments until the young woman who clearly kept the kind of schedule Ezre knew well when it came to sleeping or not sleeping set a fragrant, steaming ceramic pot of dark kofi and two small glazed mugs in front of them both along with a small wicker basket full of sweet-smelling baked dough shaped into miniature whales. Y'nko, more a coastal treat near the black sand shores that led toward Vroh Guar, but still a Hoxian favorite. They were thick enough to have a dollop of filling, like some fresh-made-pastry from a corner stand in the Dives. A palm-sized pitcher of cream and a violet-lacquered serving dish of little square, brown cubes of unrefined sugar was placed down with a smile before the woman left them alone again quietly.

Ezre served without asking, pouring the kofi with tattooed hands first for Tom and then for himself. It was no ritualized Mugrobi affair nor was it some slow, refined chan ceremony. Settling back into the booth in time for another ripple of well-aged laughter from behind them, the young Guide offered an almost shy, almost chagrined sort of expression despite the dutiful calm of his rhakor,

"Our options are many, but—arah—it was her. Of course. Only my umah could wake me in such a way, to be honest."

He chuckled, suddenly just a teenager again, dark eyes darting from Tom's concerned face to the still-warm sweets on the table between them. It was not out of avoidance, either; the sweet baked goods were very distracting. He reached for one, plucking the lightly toasted little whale before using his knuckles to shove the basket in the raen's direction in invitation. The pastry hovered near the dark line that divided his lower lip while the Hexxos finished his thoughts, voice quiet and even,

"Tuhir offered a singular recommendation, which I feel may be only slightly more challenging than anyone was planning on: there is a western pass that cuts between two taller peaks puts us out in the frigid cold for an extra half-day of travel and may subject us to harsh wind at high altitudes. But, it is relatively clear of ice because of its otherwise sheltered location. Snow is not so difficult in comparison with the right mounts to ride." Ezre was not as matter-of-fact as his tone implied, clearly weighing the options as he spoke them out loud. He didn't actually want to put his friends into more danger than necessary, but he didn't want to entirely reveal his hint of disagreement with his own father's opinions, "I am also aware of an underused tunnel carved slightly east, though it is generally no longer a popular choice because it is a longer route that requires some climbing on foot leading animals and a lot of time in enclosed spaces. There is less wind, but more risk of ice."

Taking a bite and obviously very content with the whale-shaped snack, the Hoxian sank a little in his seat with a sigh, chewing and staring into the dark liquid near his elbow as if he was preparing to scry for more answers,

"Both eventually arrive at the small settlement tasked with maintaining and operating the cable cars between the cliffside high in the Spondolas that travel down into Kzecka proper. If it was not winter, well, this would be less of a concern. I may make it all sound worse than it is, but I also know Lilanee and yourself are not used to the temperatures nor the thin air. It is not as though you two will be alone—my otsur and I have made the journey together many times in various weather conditions."

[Tom Cooke]

Hurtling Toward the Unknown

A Sleepless Night on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

H
e had thought it’d been him the snickers were for; now, as he watched Ezre pour the kofi with as much grace as – if more sleepily than – he’d ever poured chan, he thought again. Behind the Hexx, the table full of dagka exploded in whispers. “Your turn,” he heard, a loud stage whisper, with a little lessrhakor than he thought was customary.

Something about the sight of the lines inked on Ezre’s fingers through the whirl of steam – he thought of the way Ksjta had tucked her hair in place, shifting a dark band out of the way just long enough to see the delicate criss-crossed lines. Tom took his cup gratefully, with another glance at the ladies behind; he caught one’s eye, but two of the others were still looking in Ezre’s direction, as if he couldn’t see them staring.

He half wanted to clear his throat. It was mung to think they were looking at Ezre for any reason other than him. He felt guilty for drawing their eyes, guilty and freckly, but – didn’t they know it was rude to stare, anyway?

He scratched the back of his neck, then smiled back at Ezre.

For all of it, the Hexx looked as much the part as any bedheaded lad. His own smile was strained. “Heights or caves,” he muttered, propping his head up and not much caring if his elbow was on the lacquered tabletop.

His stomach rattled round again. When he found the basket of whales sitting in front of him, he didn’t hesitate; he reached for one.

The soft pastry was still warm under his fingertips, and he smelled a mix of unfamiliar spices. He hesitated before biting in; it smelled sweet, but he knew better by now than to assume anything about what sort of filling was inside a fold of pastry. When he took a bite, he found it – soft, underneath the delicate crunch of the toasted bits, and with a taste he couldn’t put his finger on. He squinted down at the dark red, chalky filling, then took another bite.

“I take it your otsur prefers the windy way,” he said through a bite, “and you’re leaning toward the caves.” He pushed down another vision: his leg in a splint, building a fire in some ice-slick caved-in passage, the susurrus of shifting rock all around. He suppressed a shudder.

He finished off his first pastry whale slowly, thinking hard. He wiped his fingertips off on the hem of his housecoat, then slid his mug of kofi back toward him, breathing in the sharp dark scent. For a moment, thinking of all that cold, he ached with the familiarity of the kofi; he wondered if it was one of the last cups he’d have in a while.

He didn’t bother with sugar or cream; earthy and odd as the filling was, the pastry was sweet enough, and the bitter smoky kofi did well to counter it. He took a first sip, then clicked his teeth irritatedly as he burned his tongue.

Mounts, too. He frowned, picturing some mant hairy beast with horns longer than a man’s arm and a great snuffling nose. Mountain mounts, he thought, blowing and taking another tentative sip.

“I can’t say,” he said finally, looking back at Ezre. “You and your otsur are the native Hoxians, and I overestimate what this body can do nearly every day. I trust both of you, but I don’t know what…”

He sucked at a tooth, peering down into his own kofi. It was too dim to see much of a reflection, thankfully.

“Did your umah have a recommendation?” he asked suddenly, looking up. Another expression, one that wasn’t quite curiosity and wasn’t quite fear, crept into his eyes. “What did she… say? Did she –” He broke off, running a finger around the rim of his mug, the smooth, unbroken glaze.

[Ezre Vks]

Over Dark Sands

some unfortunate hour on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

"Za'a." Ezre grunted a shorter, less formal affirmative to Tom's three-word summary of the options he'd given. There was something about the older galdor's expression, some sleepy mixture of concern and confusion, and the dark-haired Hexxos' delicate brows drew together when he realized that for a brief moment, the raen's attention had drifted behind him instead of focusing on the task at hand.

About that—the young Guide thought to say, if only because he knew he'd only made brief mention of the kind of cultural disdain the general Hoxian population had been raised to view the Carriers of the Dead with. He might have even mentioned in anecdotal sarcasm that without the lower races and with so few passive births in the northernmost kingdom, perhaps galdori simply couldn't call themselves galdori without finding something to latch onto and hate. Although, along with that, hating the quiet, spiritual community that dressed and disposed of your corpse in the most honorable and respectful way possible was really rather ridiculous. He was not yet bold enough to mock his own kind out loud, even though he felt a sharp, hot twinge of discomfort about it all. If this is what he'd been sent away from his home to see, so much of it was hard to like.

The kind of bias he'd been forced to conform to in Anaxas, taking on labels he was aware applied in the biological sense but no longer applied in any other sense of the gender norm as Hexxos, didn't always feel so different, either. Alethia Kuleda's voice drifted back to him between the Deftung whispers behind him about what those otherwise probably pleasant old ladies knew of him just from the lines that traced so boldly beneath his skin.

That is what you are. A boy. Alethia had declared with certainty, glaring at the dark-haired thing her daughter had dragged home and called her own.

What's a Hexxos doing this far from the graves? Giggled some stranger, passing a card.

Honestly, he was used to it.

The Cycle would take them all and they would forget, turned over and over in some river of souls, washed clean to try again. Thank Naulas!

Ezre smirked at Tom in wordless affirmation from behind the steam, leaning against both the wall of the booth and the table, hunkering down. His expression softened, clearly enjoying the pastry he'd shoved in the raen's direction and watching with interest,

"Tccchhh. Let me think." That last bite disappeared and Ezre drowned his sudden suspicion behind warm pastry and thick, comforting, slightly-sweet filling. As tempting as it was to reach for another baked whale to keep quiet a few moments longer, inked fingers curled around his mug of kofi, bringing it toward his chest and letting the heat of it wash over his chest with a sigh, "Lilanee is a Physical and Living sorcerer and my otsur is an accomplished Staticmancer. There is a variety of support to be had through magic, should we find ourselves in any sort of trouble. Less exposure to the elements is wise—regardless of the operating conditions of each of our bodies, relatively speaking."

The young Guide huffed a gentle breath over the dark surface before taking a sip, unable to entirely keep himself from smiling a little at Tom's follow-up question,

"My umah wishes to make sure we are all safe, yourself included, Tom. She also places faith in your competency, apparently, even if you do not. Perhaps she has also placed generous faith in my outspoken opinion of you. Since I have not spoken directly with Tuhir, it is more my guess that Lreya prefers the windy way but did not wish to influence us. I am currently undecided."

Did he chuckle? Some breathless sound faded into more nibbles of still-warm y'nko, admitting his preference to defer to his parents but aware that his umah had told him she trusted his decision-making. By Bash, perhaps this was just some strange test, some clever vetting process—

Ah, zjai. His mother would do such a thing, even though her centuries-old self didn't have any control over the weather.

No pressure. None at all.

"Seismic activity would be the only unpredictable danger in the tunnels, as Hox is a very volcanically active Kingdom—you know what? Nevermind. Each path has been traveled before, and it is not as though we have not already accomplished difficult things together, Cooke-vumash." He washed the words down with more kofi, hissing through its heat on his tongue but nodding as if he'd judged their options and found which one felt more comfortable in his scarred palm.

Undaunted. Indomitable as ever. Mostly.

He reached for another y'nko after all, "You can see the stars once we are safe in Kzecka—even if I would, personally, travel the exposed route should I be alone with my otsur, we will be better off in as much shelter as possible for you and Lilanee's sakes."

[Tom Cooke]

Hurtling Toward the Unknown

A Sleepless Night on the 16th of Achtus, 2719

Y
our outspoken opinion of me,” he repeated, with a faint shrug – as if to say, dze, boemo, even though he’d very much caught Ezre’s comment about relative operating conditions. The kofi was cooling; he brought the mug to his lips, took a tentative sip. Still hot enough to burn, but the warmth splashed through him, and he let the steam billow up across his face, driving out the prickling chill.

Being honest, he’d not much faith in the operating conditions of his body or his mind, and certainly not after a couple of nights with paltry, disturbed sleep. Slouching over his cup, he shut his eyes, massaging his eyelids with his fingertips.

Ezre went on, calm and even as rhakor demanded, though Tom thought he caught an amused huff and didn’t much like it. He let the words slide in one ear and out the other, drifting up on the smoke and dispersing, settling like a thin layer of fallen ash.

Seismic activity.

He didn’t know what the word seismic meant – it sounded familiar, like a word from one of those undersea science books Caina’d always tried to get him to read – but he thought he knew well enough what a volcano was, at least from the sketches and diagrams he’d seen.

Ezre had paused; Tom could hear the sound of him munching at his pastry. “What are these, anyway? The whales,” he grunted idly. He peered at Ezre through bleary eyes, blinked, then let his face sink deeper into his hands, pressing the heels of his palms against his aching forehead. It felt bruised, as if he’d furrowed his brow so much in the last few months that he’d pulled muscles.

What he really wanted was something stronger than kofi, but he bit his tongue back; an airship like this would have a fine selection of liquor, and the last thing he needed right now was to fall off the kenser.

When was the last time he’d had anything to drink, anyway? It’d been a while, hadn’t it? Ezre’s voice faded to a buzz; he heard the shuffle of cards again, a sharp bark of Deftung in a woman’s voice. He’d about sworn it off in Dentis, but then he hadn’t been able to help himself – it’d helped him think through all the business with the Shrike – and then not even halfway through Vortas, there was all that vodundun with Lilanee’s da, and sleep had been so scarce until he – nobody would care, Ezre and Lil didn’t even see him that way, didn’t even…

He jerked his head up, blinking again. He snorted a soft laugh, tapping at the edge of his mug. “I suppose that’s right, Ezre-xî,” he said with another shrug. “It’s – well – I told you, before I got acquainted with all this” – he tutted, waving a hand languidly at himself, not particularly caring who overheard – “the farthest I’d ever been out of Old Rose Harbor was to Hullwen. I was in the Isles a week, but…”

There was a pit in his stomach; it was aching, he realized, and he didn’t know if it was from hunger, or from fear – the fear that’d been percolating there for days. Every moment of laughter, every moment sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed and listening to Lilanee go on about this or that, all of it had been punctuated by a strange dread, like a cluster of black clouds just at the edges of his vision.

Out the window, the sky had been nothing but blue, blue and luminous clear white, or star-dappled dark. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a cave,” he said, “or on a mountain. If I were sitting here in the body I used to have, I can’t say I’d be much more prepared for it. I’d be more comfortable,” he snorted, “but I seriously doubt you or Lilanee would, or anybody here, for that matter.”

He took another of the benny whales; the pastry was still warm to the touch. He took a nibble.

“Your lass and your otsur, at the very least, can help with such things as cave collapses. If you’re out, I assume your otsur can help me try and contact your umah. That’s the best we can do.” He shook his head, frowning.