Fic: [LRD] Waters Dark and Deep
My father would hate this story. Not only are none of the characters named Jack, but all three have names that start with the same letter. Sorry, Daddy, it just happens that way :P.
What happened is that I wrote a prompt and then it gnawed at me for more. And I had nothing better to do and it was fun. Ah, aren't the good things always like that?
Anyway, far darker than what I normally write. Things have been swinging darker for me lately, not sure why. But it's a fun kind of dark, very broken and nearly irreparable. Set before The Mother left.
Waters Dark and Deep
Very PG-13
~3,500 words
The sun shines down on him warm and bright and under different circumstances, the gentle roll of the ocean would have lulled him to sleep. In some respects, Sethir thinks to himself, he's lucky. Closer to home, it's already winter and the water would be bitterly cold. But this far south in the ocean, halfway between the places he knows and the mythical lands of magic and mystery at the other end of the world, it might as well be early summer. He knows he would appreciate it more, however, if he wasn't clinging to a spar of wood amid the wreckage and bloated bodies that are the only remains of the ship that was carrying him.
Martan had dreamed him coming back from the sea. But Martan had never stipulated he would make it back alive.
It's been two days since the squall came upon them unexpectedly, upending the ship and smashing it like an angry child would smash a toy.
Consciousness is slipping through his grasp and Sethir wonders if it would have been worthwhile to attempt to contact the god of the seas. But it's too late now. There's been no food and no fresh water and even the body of a god has a point where it just gives in...
***
Sethir is amazed to blink awake an indeterminate time later. And either the sea has stopped its lull or he is no longer its passenger. He turns his head and finds sand, a beach, and driftwood. The other direction shows him more sand and a number of lush trees growing up next to it. An island, it seems. He wonders how large it is, if there is a source of water in its interior, if its plants and animals can sustain him. If anyone has ever charted a course to it and if they might ever do so again.
He decides quickly that he's going to lay on the sand and enjoy for a while the feeling of stillness that he's been missing for the last two weeks. Sethir throws an arm over his eyes and listens to the sound of the water rushing in and out. It comes up to his ankles on its way in, tickles his toes on the way out.
As a child, he went to visit the ocean once, with his grandmother. She had been the one who had inspired him to travel, was probably the reason he was the Traveler now. He puts away his wish that she was still alive and remembers that trip. He had chased the water, "like a goose," his Nanna said, laughing merrily from under her umbrella. It had seemed so foreign: the birds and the land and even the air so very different than anything he had ever seen. He had still been a boy that summer. The next marked the first step in his progress towards manhood. Nanna died before he reached it, leaving him all alone in the world and his trips with her had stood out as beacons of light in his life. He had picked up a sea shell before they left and kept it clutched in his hand during the ride inland. It went in his treasure chest at home, a box full of souveniers from his journeys. He still has a treasure box at the place he calls home now, but the treasures are different.
Sethir hears a squaky bird up the beach a ways, but doesn't open his eyes. Still, he smiles. Birds mean nests, which mean eggs, which means food. And nearby water, if he doesn't miss his guess entirely.
Then the bird speaks, "By The Mother's mercy, it's a dead man!" and Sethir wonders if he's finally lost what's left of his mind. Still, he's sore from having held on to a couple of sea-rotted beams for several days in the ocean, so he moves his arm slowly away from his eyes and turns his head toward the trees, where the voice is coming from.
A man and a woman are running toward him. Well, the woman is running toward him. The man is walking in his direction. They're both dark complected and she is wearing the head and shoulder smock that women traditionally wear around al'Sampoor, the southernmost city on the continent. The man's head is uncovered, but he seems to be reaching for a weapon at his belt. Sethir puts on his best smile for the woman who is now kneeling beside him in a gentle swish of blue and green silks. Her eyes are pale, some color between blue and gray, a startlingly lovely contrast to her dark skin and the edge of her darker hair that he can see under the hood.
"Are you hurt?" she asks, reaching for him.
He realizes he doesn't actually know the answer, but it seems most prudent to say, "I believe I am unharmed." Sethir's smile drops off his face when her hand settles on his shoulder and her eyes gain a sudden knowing. She removes her hands and takes a respectful step or two away. The man in black -- with equally striking hazel eyes -- has reached them now and looks between them.
"I apologize," she says formally, but doesn't bow. It isn't customary.
"You didn't know," he tells her, sitting up and dusting the sand from his arms. He doesn't much like looking up at them, so he stands with only a little trouble. Neither of them make a move to help him. "I don't know you, I'm afraid. I'm Sethir, the Traveler."
"Syrce, Maiden of the Seas," she nods at him in formal greeting. Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her.
"Sairus, Death's Muse," and the way he says it, it sounds more like he's used to relaying it cockily and to impress. But he plows past that, "What are you doing on this island? Did you come here for a purpose?" His hand inches toward the dagger on his hip as Sethir watches.
"I am here by coincidence, not design," Sethir holds up his hands, showing that they are empty. "The ship carrying me went down in a storm. I was the only survivor." He feels ridiculous, eyes flicking between the two of them and the dagger, but he can't let the kid get the jump on him.
Syrce notices his eyes and she looks at Sairus's creeping hand. She reaches out and smacks his hand solidly. "Stop that, you idiot. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Sairus glares at her, eyes narrowed. "I'm a deadly killer now, Syrce. I don't know what makes you think you can treat me like a child."
"You've been a god for all of five minutes, Sairus!" she turns to him, hands on her hips. They are of a similar height, but she still seems to be looking down at him. "He's been the Traveler for decades or more. Whatever skill you think you have, it's not tempered with that kind of experience."
"Siblings?" Sethir asks quietly in the silence that gathers.
"How did you know?" Sairus demands.
Syrce lays a calming hand on his shoulder. "Yes, and we have no intention of harming you."
Sethir frowns, thinking. "Is there a connection between Sea and Death's Muse that I don't remember?"
She bites her lip and tries to catch her brother's eyes. He's too busy glaring at Sethir. "No, there's no connection," she says quietly. "I have a home up the hill, in the trees. Would you join us?"
It's a diversion from the topic at hand and he knows it, but he's tired, thirsty, and hungry. He's not even sure which of those is most important right now. "That would be nice," he says, smiling at her a bit. Sairus still looks surly.
As promised, there is a small hut not far away, protected from the weather by the trees surrounding it. Sethir drinks in the exotic atmosphere, birds more brightly colored than any he's ever seen, trees with bark so thick he wonders if a sword would be able to penetrate it, and one tree streaked with bright yellows, pinks, and blues that Syrce assures him is natural.
Like a proper hostess, she settles them on pillows at a low table and serves them cool, clear water. Sethir is undoubtedly the worst guest ever, drinking three glasses of water hastily and getting sand and muck from the ocean all over her fine cushions. She doesn't seem to mind. Sairus spends the time staring out the window and ignoring him. Sethir is perfectly happy with that.
Syrce gathers herself quickly once Sethir sits back, sated for the time being. Her hands are folded in her lap and she keeps looking up from them while she speaks. "I haven't been Maiden of the Seas but for about four years. That's why we haven't met," she smiles at Sethir shyly, as though she has broken some unknown protocol. He nods for her to continue, smiles to show he isn't upset. "Four years ago I was in a storm, you see. We were." Syrce looks at Sairus. He doesn't react. She continues, words clipped and precise. It is either a tale she repeats often or one she never wants to tell again. Perhaps both. "The ocean was rough and we were taking on water. I was thrown overboard. I saw a light from below and I swam toward it. The Lord of the Seas was there. He spared me for a few moments. I asked him to save my brother. He said he would, but only if I took his place. I agreed."
"But you didn't come back for me," Sairus cries suddenly. "And then I become a god and come find you and you're not happy to see me."
"I didn't want this life for you," she says pleadingly. "That's why I didn't come back for you. I wanted you to find your own way, have a good life."
"I couldn't have a good life," he replies, low and deadly. When he turns to Sethir, it's with a killer's cold malice in his eyes. "The ship made it to shore. Five sailors survived the sea. They didn't make it to land. They'd killed my sister and I couldn't let them live." His head whips around to Syrce, watching her react. Both her hands cover her mouth and her eyes are wide.
"I'm so sorry," she reaches for him with one hand, tears gathering. He shrugs away from her.
"I found you," he slouches back. "That's all that is important." His eyes slide to Sethir again. "How many men have you killed?"
"I don't really know," Sethir says evenly, truthfully. Killing isn't his forte.
"I've killed at least a hundred," Sairus brags, youthful bravado. Dangerous, deadly youthful bravado. Sethir doesn't answer. Syrce looks shocked. "They said I came back from the sea crazy and maybe I did. But I had a skill and I used it. I honed it, like any apprentice hones his craft. I had several masters. They died when I was done with them."
"You have an impressive repertoire there," Sethir nods, nice and slow. The boy is on edge, about to snap. Sethir doesn't want to be in his way when he does.
Syrce reaches for him again and though Sairus glares, she puts a hand on his arm, pushing his black sleeve up to press skin to skin. "You were a child," she sounds broken-hearted. "Why did you do those things?"
"Fourteen isn't a child anymore, Syrce," Sairus snaps back, but doesn't move his hand. "You told me that after Mother and Father died. I would be the man of the house. You told me that. You told me that and then you died. I didn't have anyone else."
"Auntie..." Syrce begins, but Sairus makes an aborting gesture.
"She wasn't any use and she didn't want me anyway. I killed her quickly," he grins, all teeth.
Her face is full of horror and that isn't going to go away. Sethir wonders idly if he can still find that piece of wood and try to paddle back on his own.
"The deaths later were more creative," Sairus continues. "Making someone stay alive a long time is difficult. Especially when they've got a knife in their spine or their eye or their stomach. It takes practice," he stresses the word. "I practiced a lot. You never came to see me, Syrce. So I came to see you. After I found The Mother and made her make me one of the gods." Sairus giggles and there is nothing sane in the sound. Gods can kill others of their kind. Being near another makes both vulnerable. Sairus is the only one armed. Sethir is distinctly uneasy with that.
"How did you find out Syrce was a god, Sairus?" Sethir asks carefully.
Sairus makes eye contact, but only briefly. He's too busy watching his sister, tears streaming down her face, head bent low over the table, his arm still clutched in her hands. "I found a god and killed him," he says, as if it were simple. Of course, to him it might have been. Sethir tries not to think like that. It isn't productive. "He talked a lot. He said I couldn't hurt him, that he was used to being hurt. I hurt him better. He said I had eyes like the Maiden of the Seas. And then he told me her name. And it was my sister's name and he wouldn't tell me if she was my sister or not. So I didn't make it quick. It took him a long time to die."
Sethir does his very best not to think of the condition of Drassus, the Pain Master's body when it was found. "And then you came and found Syrce?" he asks, not sure what answers he's going to get, but he has to keep the kid busy until his sister can pull herself together and get a handle on him.
"Oh, I had to become a god first," Sairus corrects him and Sethir can almost hear Syrce moan. She doesn't want to hear this. Neither does he, but what choice do they have, either of them? "I made people die slowly, quickly, pretty, ugly, painful, easy, everything." He chuckles. "I was very, very good. And then one day The Mother was just there, in the cellar with me and the last corpse. I was just about to leave. The Mother was so pretty, Syrce. You should have seen her." Sethir can see Syrce shuddering, holding in sobs. "She told me she had read my heart and would give me my greatest wish if I would agree to one thing. So I did and she did and then I told the god who creates the storms that I would cut out the liver of the pretty blonde woman he follows around if he didn't help me and he sent me riding on a boat in a storm out here to you." He pats Syrce's hand and she drags her eyes up to him. "That's why I was so upset when he came and got between us. I don't want anyone between us ever again."
"There won't be anyone," Syrce promises him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Could I get you to do something for me, though, Sairus? The well close to the hut is running dry. There's another one, but it's farther away. Can you go get us some more water?"
"Sure," he stands, looks happy to help. A question is forming in Sethir's mind. "Where's it at?"
"Follow the trail just outside," Syrce points. "It will wind through the trees a bit. If you get to the other beach, you've gone too far."
"I'll be back," Sairus heads for the door.
"Sairus," Sethir calls before he's gone. Sairus looks back over his shoulder, curious but not deadly. "What did The Mother make you promise?"
"Not to kill any of the other gods," he says simply and then disappears out the door.
They can hear his footsteps through the brush. When the sound fades, Syrce jumps to her feet. "I can send you back," she tells him, not looking at him. Her words are quick and run over each other in her haste. "It's how I get out here, I guide the seas. I didn't know he was the reason for the storm, he just showed up this morning and I didn't even know he was alive before today. I almost wish --" she puts a hand over her mouth and closes her eyes. Sethir stands beside her, but she's moving again before he can say anything. "I'm sorry about that, that storm you had to endure. I'll-I'll take care of him somehow."
She walks outside and Sethir follows. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and help? If he can't kill either of us, it's less dire." He's really not being as heroic as he sounds, or at least that's what he's telling himself. But he can see it in her eyes: she can't kill her brother.
Syrce shakes her head as she picks up a hollowed out wedge of what must have once been one of the trees with the thick bark. He takes it from her and she doesn't protest. "He might kill you anyway," she stops and closes her eyes a moment, then continues. "I don't know how much that promise binds him. But it's my responsibility. He's my responsibility. I shouldn't have left him," she says with such anguish that he wants to pull her aside or take her with him. But then she straightens, casts him a small smile, and says, "But I thank you anyway."
The pace she sets is quick and Sethir's legs protest, but he keeps up anyway. They reach the beach in a handful of minutes. Syrce sets the tiny boat at the edge of the water, rushing back out to sea this time of day. "There's a little food in the front compartment," she tells him, pulling a panel away so that he can see the rations packed inside. "Water..." she worries at her lip for a moment. "Stay here," she orders, then dashes off.
Sethir doesn't know how much time he has until Sairus gets back. He's not even sure what will happen when he does. Syrce seems worried about it, though. He stays crouched next to the boat, watching warily up and down the beach. He can identify the piece of wood he clung to, a piece of the mizzenmast beside it, both drying in the sun. Syrce bursts through the trees at a dead run, a clay jug of water clutched in her arms. "It's not much," she says as she thrusts it at him, "but it will get you home.
"How long will it take?" he asks, depositing the jug and pulling the boat into the water.
"Two days or so. It will move very fast and should avoid the bad weather." She's helping him push it into the shallows.
"You should come see me when you have everything worked out. To talk about things or," let me know he's dead, "whatever."
Syrce nods. "Thank you, I will."
Sethir climbs into the craft. It's a tight fit, meant for a woman who's just a bit shorter. He doubts he'll be able to sleep much or well, but two days isn't so bad. There doesn't look to be a lot of choice. "The Mother's blessings to you, then," he says, meaning it with all his heart.
She doesn't say anything. Her pants are wet to her knees and her eyes are wide. She's worrying at her fingers, clutched white in front of her. The boat begins to float away from her, following the movement of the tide. Then, abruptly, it stops and begins floating toward the island. Sethir looks back. Syrce is wading quickly out to him and where they meet, the water is nearly to her waist.
"I-I have to tell someone," she says, breath coming in harsh gasps. "I jumped." She looks up, meets his eyes and he can see her willing him to understand. "In the storm I saw that the ship was going down there was a light in the water and I jumped. To find the god and do what I did and save Sethir. He was all I had left. I'm sorry."
Sethir would have offered her what little solace he could, but she sent him plowing forth into the ocean again, much faster this time. He tried to call to her over the wind whipping past, but he doubted she could hear him. She was quickly just a small figure walking out of the ocean. He saw a dark figure join her, but then the island faded into the distance.
Two days later, he made landfall at al'Sampoor. It was a good number of years before he saw Syrce again and a good deal longer before he again trusted himself to her provinces.
What happened is that I wrote a prompt and then it gnawed at me for more. And I had nothing better to do and it was fun. Ah, aren't the good things always like that?
Anyway, far darker than what I normally write. Things have been swinging darker for me lately, not sure why. But it's a fun kind of dark, very broken and nearly irreparable. Set before The Mother left.
Waters Dark and Deep
Very PG-13
~3,500 words
The sun shines down on him warm and bright and under different circumstances, the gentle roll of the ocean would have lulled him to sleep. In some respects, Sethir thinks to himself, he's lucky. Closer to home, it's already winter and the water would be bitterly cold. But this far south in the ocean, halfway between the places he knows and the mythical lands of magic and mystery at the other end of the world, it might as well be early summer. He knows he would appreciate it more, however, if he wasn't clinging to a spar of wood amid the wreckage and bloated bodies that are the only remains of the ship that was carrying him.
Martan had dreamed him coming back from the sea. But Martan had never stipulated he would make it back alive.
It's been two days since the squall came upon them unexpectedly, upending the ship and smashing it like an angry child would smash a toy.
Consciousness is slipping through his grasp and Sethir wonders if it would have been worthwhile to attempt to contact the god of the seas. But it's too late now. There's been no food and no fresh water and even the body of a god has a point where it just gives in...
***
Sethir is amazed to blink awake an indeterminate time later. And either the sea has stopped its lull or he is no longer its passenger. He turns his head and finds sand, a beach, and driftwood. The other direction shows him more sand and a number of lush trees growing up next to it. An island, it seems. He wonders how large it is, if there is a source of water in its interior, if its plants and animals can sustain him. If anyone has ever charted a course to it and if they might ever do so again.
He decides quickly that he's going to lay on the sand and enjoy for a while the feeling of stillness that he's been missing for the last two weeks. Sethir throws an arm over his eyes and listens to the sound of the water rushing in and out. It comes up to his ankles on its way in, tickles his toes on the way out.
As a child, he went to visit the ocean once, with his grandmother. She had been the one who had inspired him to travel, was probably the reason he was the Traveler now. He puts away his wish that she was still alive and remembers that trip. He had chased the water, "like a goose," his Nanna said, laughing merrily from under her umbrella. It had seemed so foreign: the birds and the land and even the air so very different than anything he had ever seen. He had still been a boy that summer. The next marked the first step in his progress towards manhood. Nanna died before he reached it, leaving him all alone in the world and his trips with her had stood out as beacons of light in his life. He had picked up a sea shell before they left and kept it clutched in his hand during the ride inland. It went in his treasure chest at home, a box full of souveniers from his journeys. He still has a treasure box at the place he calls home now, but the treasures are different.
Sethir hears a squaky bird up the beach a ways, but doesn't open his eyes. Still, he smiles. Birds mean nests, which mean eggs, which means food. And nearby water, if he doesn't miss his guess entirely.
Then the bird speaks, "By The Mother's mercy, it's a dead man!" and Sethir wonders if he's finally lost what's left of his mind. Still, he's sore from having held on to a couple of sea-rotted beams for several days in the ocean, so he moves his arm slowly away from his eyes and turns his head toward the trees, where the voice is coming from.
A man and a woman are running toward him. Well, the woman is running toward him. The man is walking in his direction. They're both dark complected and she is wearing the head and shoulder smock that women traditionally wear around al'Sampoor, the southernmost city on the continent. The man's head is uncovered, but he seems to be reaching for a weapon at his belt. Sethir puts on his best smile for the woman who is now kneeling beside him in a gentle swish of blue and green silks. Her eyes are pale, some color between blue and gray, a startlingly lovely contrast to her dark skin and the edge of her darker hair that he can see under the hood.
"Are you hurt?" she asks, reaching for him.
He realizes he doesn't actually know the answer, but it seems most prudent to say, "I believe I am unharmed." Sethir's smile drops off his face when her hand settles on his shoulder and her eyes gain a sudden knowing. She removes her hands and takes a respectful step or two away. The man in black -- with equally striking hazel eyes -- has reached them now and looks between them.
"I apologize," she says formally, but doesn't bow. It isn't customary.
"You didn't know," he tells her, sitting up and dusting the sand from his arms. He doesn't much like looking up at them, so he stands with only a little trouble. Neither of them make a move to help him. "I don't know you, I'm afraid. I'm Sethir, the Traveler."
"Syrce, Maiden of the Seas," she nods at him in formal greeting. Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her.
"Sairus, Death's Muse," and the way he says it, it sounds more like he's used to relaying it cockily and to impress. But he plows past that, "What are you doing on this island? Did you come here for a purpose?" His hand inches toward the dagger on his hip as Sethir watches.
"I am here by coincidence, not design," Sethir holds up his hands, showing that they are empty. "The ship carrying me went down in a storm. I was the only survivor." He feels ridiculous, eyes flicking between the two of them and the dagger, but he can't let the kid get the jump on him.
Syrce notices his eyes and she looks at Sairus's creeping hand. She reaches out and smacks his hand solidly. "Stop that, you idiot. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Sairus glares at her, eyes narrowed. "I'm a deadly killer now, Syrce. I don't know what makes you think you can treat me like a child."
"You've been a god for all of five minutes, Sairus!" she turns to him, hands on her hips. They are of a similar height, but she still seems to be looking down at him. "He's been the Traveler for decades or more. Whatever skill you think you have, it's not tempered with that kind of experience."
"Siblings?" Sethir asks quietly in the silence that gathers.
"How did you know?" Sairus demands.
Syrce lays a calming hand on his shoulder. "Yes, and we have no intention of harming you."
Sethir frowns, thinking. "Is there a connection between Sea and Death's Muse that I don't remember?"
She bites her lip and tries to catch her brother's eyes. He's too busy glaring at Sethir. "No, there's no connection," she says quietly. "I have a home up the hill, in the trees. Would you join us?"
It's a diversion from the topic at hand and he knows it, but he's tired, thirsty, and hungry. He's not even sure which of those is most important right now. "That would be nice," he says, smiling at her a bit. Sairus still looks surly.
As promised, there is a small hut not far away, protected from the weather by the trees surrounding it. Sethir drinks in the exotic atmosphere, birds more brightly colored than any he's ever seen, trees with bark so thick he wonders if a sword would be able to penetrate it, and one tree streaked with bright yellows, pinks, and blues that Syrce assures him is natural.
Like a proper hostess, she settles them on pillows at a low table and serves them cool, clear water. Sethir is undoubtedly the worst guest ever, drinking three glasses of water hastily and getting sand and muck from the ocean all over her fine cushions. She doesn't seem to mind. Sairus spends the time staring out the window and ignoring him. Sethir is perfectly happy with that.
Syrce gathers herself quickly once Sethir sits back, sated for the time being. Her hands are folded in her lap and she keeps looking up from them while she speaks. "I haven't been Maiden of the Seas but for about four years. That's why we haven't met," she smiles at Sethir shyly, as though she has broken some unknown protocol. He nods for her to continue, smiles to show he isn't upset. "Four years ago I was in a storm, you see. We were." Syrce looks at Sairus. He doesn't react. She continues, words clipped and precise. It is either a tale she repeats often or one she never wants to tell again. Perhaps both. "The ocean was rough and we were taking on water. I was thrown overboard. I saw a light from below and I swam toward it. The Lord of the Seas was there. He spared me for a few moments. I asked him to save my brother. He said he would, but only if I took his place. I agreed."
"But you didn't come back for me," Sairus cries suddenly. "And then I become a god and come find you and you're not happy to see me."
"I didn't want this life for you," she says pleadingly. "That's why I didn't come back for you. I wanted you to find your own way, have a good life."
"I couldn't have a good life," he replies, low and deadly. When he turns to Sethir, it's with a killer's cold malice in his eyes. "The ship made it to shore. Five sailors survived the sea. They didn't make it to land. They'd killed my sister and I couldn't let them live." His head whips around to Syrce, watching her react. Both her hands cover her mouth and her eyes are wide.
"I'm so sorry," she reaches for him with one hand, tears gathering. He shrugs away from her.
"I found you," he slouches back. "That's all that is important." His eyes slide to Sethir again. "How many men have you killed?"
"I don't really know," Sethir says evenly, truthfully. Killing isn't his forte.
"I've killed at least a hundred," Sairus brags, youthful bravado. Dangerous, deadly youthful bravado. Sethir doesn't answer. Syrce looks shocked. "They said I came back from the sea crazy and maybe I did. But I had a skill and I used it. I honed it, like any apprentice hones his craft. I had several masters. They died when I was done with them."
"You have an impressive repertoire there," Sethir nods, nice and slow. The boy is on edge, about to snap. Sethir doesn't want to be in his way when he does.
Syrce reaches for him again and though Sairus glares, she puts a hand on his arm, pushing his black sleeve up to press skin to skin. "You were a child," she sounds broken-hearted. "Why did you do those things?"
"Fourteen isn't a child anymore, Syrce," Sairus snaps back, but doesn't move his hand. "You told me that after Mother and Father died. I would be the man of the house. You told me that. You told me that and then you died. I didn't have anyone else."
"Auntie..." Syrce begins, but Sairus makes an aborting gesture.
"She wasn't any use and she didn't want me anyway. I killed her quickly," he grins, all teeth.
Her face is full of horror and that isn't going to go away. Sethir wonders idly if he can still find that piece of wood and try to paddle back on his own.
"The deaths later were more creative," Sairus continues. "Making someone stay alive a long time is difficult. Especially when they've got a knife in their spine or their eye or their stomach. It takes practice," he stresses the word. "I practiced a lot. You never came to see me, Syrce. So I came to see you. After I found The Mother and made her make me one of the gods." Sairus giggles and there is nothing sane in the sound. Gods can kill others of their kind. Being near another makes both vulnerable. Sairus is the only one armed. Sethir is distinctly uneasy with that.
"How did you find out Syrce was a god, Sairus?" Sethir asks carefully.
Sairus makes eye contact, but only briefly. He's too busy watching his sister, tears streaming down her face, head bent low over the table, his arm still clutched in her hands. "I found a god and killed him," he says, as if it were simple. Of course, to him it might have been. Sethir tries not to think like that. It isn't productive. "He talked a lot. He said I couldn't hurt him, that he was used to being hurt. I hurt him better. He said I had eyes like the Maiden of the Seas. And then he told me her name. And it was my sister's name and he wouldn't tell me if she was my sister or not. So I didn't make it quick. It took him a long time to die."
Sethir does his very best not to think of the condition of Drassus, the Pain Master's body when it was found. "And then you came and found Syrce?" he asks, not sure what answers he's going to get, but he has to keep the kid busy until his sister can pull herself together and get a handle on him.
"Oh, I had to become a god first," Sairus corrects him and Sethir can almost hear Syrce moan. She doesn't want to hear this. Neither does he, but what choice do they have, either of them? "I made people die slowly, quickly, pretty, ugly, painful, easy, everything." He chuckles. "I was very, very good. And then one day The Mother was just there, in the cellar with me and the last corpse. I was just about to leave. The Mother was so pretty, Syrce. You should have seen her." Sethir can see Syrce shuddering, holding in sobs. "She told me she had read my heart and would give me my greatest wish if I would agree to one thing. So I did and she did and then I told the god who creates the storms that I would cut out the liver of the pretty blonde woman he follows around if he didn't help me and he sent me riding on a boat in a storm out here to you." He pats Syrce's hand and she drags her eyes up to him. "That's why I was so upset when he came and got between us. I don't want anyone between us ever again."
"There won't be anyone," Syrce promises him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Could I get you to do something for me, though, Sairus? The well close to the hut is running dry. There's another one, but it's farther away. Can you go get us some more water?"
"Sure," he stands, looks happy to help. A question is forming in Sethir's mind. "Where's it at?"
"Follow the trail just outside," Syrce points. "It will wind through the trees a bit. If you get to the other beach, you've gone too far."
"I'll be back," Sairus heads for the door.
"Sairus," Sethir calls before he's gone. Sairus looks back over his shoulder, curious but not deadly. "What did The Mother make you promise?"
"Not to kill any of the other gods," he says simply and then disappears out the door.
They can hear his footsteps through the brush. When the sound fades, Syrce jumps to her feet. "I can send you back," she tells him, not looking at him. Her words are quick and run over each other in her haste. "It's how I get out here, I guide the seas. I didn't know he was the reason for the storm, he just showed up this morning and I didn't even know he was alive before today. I almost wish --" she puts a hand over her mouth and closes her eyes. Sethir stands beside her, but she's moving again before he can say anything. "I'm sorry about that, that storm you had to endure. I'll-I'll take care of him somehow."
She walks outside and Sethir follows. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and help? If he can't kill either of us, it's less dire." He's really not being as heroic as he sounds, or at least that's what he's telling himself. But he can see it in her eyes: she can't kill her brother.
Syrce shakes her head as she picks up a hollowed out wedge of what must have once been one of the trees with the thick bark. He takes it from her and she doesn't protest. "He might kill you anyway," she stops and closes her eyes a moment, then continues. "I don't know how much that promise binds him. But it's my responsibility. He's my responsibility. I shouldn't have left him," she says with such anguish that he wants to pull her aside or take her with him. But then she straightens, casts him a small smile, and says, "But I thank you anyway."
The pace she sets is quick and Sethir's legs protest, but he keeps up anyway. They reach the beach in a handful of minutes. Syrce sets the tiny boat at the edge of the water, rushing back out to sea this time of day. "There's a little food in the front compartment," she tells him, pulling a panel away so that he can see the rations packed inside. "Water..." she worries at her lip for a moment. "Stay here," she orders, then dashes off.
Sethir doesn't know how much time he has until Sairus gets back. He's not even sure what will happen when he does. Syrce seems worried about it, though. He stays crouched next to the boat, watching warily up and down the beach. He can identify the piece of wood he clung to, a piece of the mizzenmast beside it, both drying in the sun. Syrce bursts through the trees at a dead run, a clay jug of water clutched in her arms. "It's not much," she says as she thrusts it at him, "but it will get you home.
"How long will it take?" he asks, depositing the jug and pulling the boat into the water.
"Two days or so. It will move very fast and should avoid the bad weather." She's helping him push it into the shallows.
"You should come see me when you have everything worked out. To talk about things or," let me know he's dead, "whatever."
Syrce nods. "Thank you, I will."
Sethir climbs into the craft. It's a tight fit, meant for a woman who's just a bit shorter. He doubts he'll be able to sleep much or well, but two days isn't so bad. There doesn't look to be a lot of choice. "The Mother's blessings to you, then," he says, meaning it with all his heart.
She doesn't say anything. Her pants are wet to her knees and her eyes are wide. She's worrying at her fingers, clutched white in front of her. The boat begins to float away from her, following the movement of the tide. Then, abruptly, it stops and begins floating toward the island. Sethir looks back. Syrce is wading quickly out to him and where they meet, the water is nearly to her waist.
"I-I have to tell someone," she says, breath coming in harsh gasps. "I jumped." She looks up, meets his eyes and he can see her willing him to understand. "In the storm I saw that the ship was going down there was a light in the water and I jumped. To find the god and do what I did and save Sethir. He was all I had left. I'm sorry."
Sethir would have offered her what little solace he could, but she sent him plowing forth into the ocean again, much faster this time. He tried to call to her over the wind whipping past, but he doubted she could hear him. She was quickly just a small figure walking out of the ocean. He saw a dark figure join her, but then the island faded into the distance.
Two days later, he made landfall at al'Sampoor. It was a good number of years before he saw Syrce again and a good deal longer before he again trusted himself to her provinces.