Short Story: your friend


 * Author: Jamie
 * Google Document

i.

you haven’t been stowing away for very long. at least… you don’t think you have. you haven’t been keeping track of time all that well. the task is made harder by the fact that you haven’t seen any sunlight since you were pulled out of the ocean. the surfacer who helped you has visited a couple times, albeit never for long - only to give you meals.

you mostly stick to the back of the room, behind a wall of barrels filled with fish. the fish are all dead and gutted - being preserved with some kind of complex magic - so you can’t talk to them, but that doesn’t bother you. you can barely communicate with the alive ones, anyways. you hate making yourself small like this but it’s a necessary precaution: the surfacer said that, if you were found out by the others, you’d both be in trouble. huge trouble.

you think about being thrown back into the sea - about your father finding you once more - and your mouth fills with the acrid taste of fear. you never felt like this before you told him about wanting to go to the surface. and you’ve been in a lot of objectively scary situations! you’ve explored sunken ships and undersea caverns! you’ve been chased by creatures with far too many teeth! your heart has pounded as you conjured ice from your fingertips - as you protected yourself from whatever the sea decided to throw upon you during your adventures.

and yet none of that compares to the feeling of those guards’ hands clamped around your arms, tugging you along that long, long hallway. none of it compares to how you screamed and screamed and how no one heard you; no one came for you. nothing compares to being alone in that tiny room with the locked door and the thick, opaque glass that just wouldn’t break. nothing.

you pull the blanket that the surfacer gave you tighter around your shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing the heels of your hands against them.

what will happen if your father finds you? when he learns that you’ve run away… will he know that lotlyn helped? will he do anything to her? on that note, how did lotlyn help? you have so many questions. after so many monotonous days, your whole life has suddenly changed in almost every single way. you can scarcely wrap your mind around any of it. at least you’re still you. you try to focus on breathing - in and out, in and out. the surface air isn’t as horrible now, but it still gets caught in your throat sometimes and you’re a bit worried that it’ll suffocate you.

“...hello?”

your body jerks forward as you let out a startled yelp. eyes open, your world has light once more - light which reveals the surfacer. your sudden exclamation shocked him; he almost drops the lantern clutched in his hand. the books clutched in his other hand aren’t as fortunate, however. they all go tumbling to the floor.

his eyes are wide. he looks down at the mess in front of him, slack-jawed. incredulous. the oddly goofy expression cracks through your fear. you find yourself laughing, as if the memories of all you’ve been through have suddenly dissipated - like sea foam that has finally reached the shore.

“i’m glad that you think this is funny,” the surfacer says, his voice dry - but you can tell he’s fighting off his own urge to laugh. “i told you - we have to be quiet.”

you know. you were just thinking about that. and yet, somehow, your fears don’t seem to loom over you quite as much.

you help him pick up the books and recognize a few of the titles. when you tell him this, he’s clearly surprised.

“you - you read down there, in the sea?” he blinks. “how?”

“why wouldn’t we?” you feign ignorance, as if you haven’t bemoaned finding ruined surfacer books at the bottom of the seafloor, time and time again.

“well - uh - the…” the surfacer is at a loss for words. “the water -”

“they get translated onto our own materials,” you interrupt, granting him that small bit of mercy. “so the ink and pages don’t get all messed up.” you flip through one of the books. it’s filled with illustrations of maps: pictorial representations of the whole world out there. the sight isn’t foreign to you, yet it makes your chest tighten. everything feels so much more real, now.

“where are you from, anyway?” the surfacer asks.

“the sea.” your reply comes too quickly; he eyes you with suspicion.

“oh, come on,” he says. “i meant where in the sea.”

“the sea is the sea.” you certainly don’t want to mention your home to him. you don’t want to mention it to anyone. you know that anyone who so much as looks into laverathia at the moment will likely find out that their prince has gone missing.

“fine. be difficult,” he says, frowning as he grabs one of the books for himself. “not like i’m risking my job here for you, anyways.”

there’s an annoying little twinge of guilt in your chest. you know that was his intention, but it works nonetheless.

“i just lived with my people,” you say. “that’s all.”

“with other tritons?” the surfacer is fascinated. you just nod. “you’re the first one i’ve ever seen.”

“i’ve seen people like you before.” at least you think so.

“have you?” the surfacer tilts his head, curious. “...ah. on ships.”

“yes. though maybe not as often as you’d think.” the ocean is deep, after all. very deep. “most of you know better than to stray into triton territory.” all sorts of deals are in effect with various surface political figures. “my people don’t care very much about surfacers.”

“yet you do,” the surfacer interjects.

“i do.” you light up. “i’ve studied the surface for years. your history is so interesting!” if only you weren’t of noble birth. perhaps you could have simply become a scholar and left laverathia on your own terms.

for a moment, the surfacer seems to be unable to meet your gaze. did you say something strange? he’s behaving as if you did.

“if i’m not the first surfacer you’ve met,” he says, “why didn’t you run off with one of those others?”

your mind goes blank. it’s true - maybe you could’ve done that. it just never occurred to you that it was an option. when you tangled yourself up in this surfacer’s net, you were nothing short of desperate. you had two options: get caught in the net or get caught by laverathia’s guards. (though, now that you think about it, you were more likely to get caught by your brother than any guard. viglis was always incredibly stubborn about tracking you down every time you slipped out of the kingdom. you should consider yourself lucky that he didn’t manage to foil your escape altogether.)

“i suppose it doesn’t matter now,” the surfacer says, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts. “but, word of advice... not everyone up here’s as noble, kind-hearted, generous, charitable and handsome as me.” he grins. “you should be careful.”

“i think that people are better than we give them credit for,” you say. “regardless of where they’re from.”

he stares at you, expression unreadable. he then looks down at the book held in his hands. you don’t recognize that one. more importantly: did you say something wrong again? talking with people is difficult.

“...thank you, though!” you manage to chirp out, your tone light. “you certainly did save me. i was in a tough spot. i’m not sure what i would’ve done if you tossed me back into the sea.”

that pleases him. that silly grin is back and he’s able to meet your gaze once more. “no problem,” he says. “was bored stiff, to be honest. the crew always sticks me with the late-night shifts… it’s not fair.” the grin is replaced by a pout. “i lose one bet and now they have me doing all their dirty work. and that includes manning this room...” he groans.

“it’s fine!” you exclaim in another attempt to cheer him up. this surfacer is rather emotional, isn’t he? “if you weren’t doing their dirty work, we’d have never met.”

“that’s true,” he says. “i suppose everything worked out for the best.”

it’s an off-handed comment but it comforts you all the same. the past few weeks have been an ordeal. memories of all you’ve been through cling to you like a second skin. they’ve seeped into you and have formed nightmares which are bound to last for many days to come.

and yet, you are here. you rose past the cruelty of your father. you broke free from the chains of duty despite the noble blood running through your veins.

everything worked out for the best.

you’re fine now. you’re okay now. you’re on the surface now.

your eyes sting - why? you rub at them and find out that they’re… wet.

“a-are you alright?!” the surfacer panics, casting his book aside to grab your shoulders.

“my eyes are leaking,” you say.

the surfacer stares at you blankly. “what?”

it’s your turn to panic. “my eyes! they’re leaking! what is this?! am i ill?!”

“what?” the surfacer repeats, and more and more water spills from your eyes.

“i don’t know what’s happening!” you wail, pressing your hands against your face once more as if to push the water back into your body. is this some sort of side-effect to coming to the surface? some kind of punishment?

“it’s normal!” the surfacer insists. he grabs onto your arms - directing your hands away from your face. “they’re tears. you’re crying!”

oh.

crying.

of course.

that feeling in your chest has made you cry.

“haven’t you cried before?” the surfacer’s still quite panicked.

“i have,” you manage to say as you sniffle. “but everything around us is… dry. it’s - it’s strange. different from… home.” crying underwater isn’t at all like this. much like the way the surface’s air sits within your chest, your tears feel entirely too thick and heavy as they trail down your face.

you’re not sad. you’re happy. so, why…?

“oh. right.” the surfacer lets go of you. “i didn’t think of that. wow. don’t think i’ve ever cried underwater.” he pales. “don’t think i can.”

you sniffle some more, wiping at your eyes. the surfacer asks if you’re alright a few more times, and you feel as if you need to convince him. you repeatedly tell him that you’re fine. it’s not a lie: you’re more than fine. like he said, everything worked out for the best.

eventually, the surfacer seems convinced - at least for the most part. he stops pestering you, instead settling on eyeing you warily once more. you recognize that look on his face. it’s the same look that he had when you first met him. a silence settles between the two of you, with only the creaking of the ship and the crash of waves outside daring to challenge it. you find yourself bothered by that. it’s a realization that shocks you - after all, you’ve always been fine with being on your own. but you’re not one to analyze your emotions too deeply. once your tears have finally stopped falling, you look at the surfacer in his eyes once more.

“you’ve never stayed down here for this long,” you say.

“i know. sorry about that.” he rubs the back of his head, sheepish. “i meant to hang around here with you more often, but the captain’s got a short fuse. she chewed me out for fuckin’ up the nets on the night i found you, so i had to do a bunch of extra shit to make up for it. that’s why i only stopped by to drop off food and stuff before.” his features brighten. “i should be able to visit you for longer now. things’ve mostly calmed down around here. we’ll be docking at a new port soon.”

a new port. that’s where you’ll disembark. a smile finds its way to your face.

“sorry it’s so disgusting down here,” the surfacer continues, oblivious to your delight. “stinks like rotten hell ‘cos of the fish. good thing i’m mostly used to it. can’t be a sailor and not stomach the smell of fish.”

“i can talk to them, you know.” you blurt it out before you can stop yourself. “...fish.” you expect the surfacer to react with mild horror (most surfacers can’t talk to fish, you think), but this one meets you with a distinct sort of fascination.

“seriously?” he’s definitely excited.

“yes. well, i can only talk to them a little,” you say. “and only when they’re alive.”

the surfacer laughs - a genuine sound which takes you back to the night that you first dared to dip your head above the waves.

“you can’t magically commune with the spirits of long-gone fish? that’s a shame,” he says. “i’d like to hear what the ones we’ve caught have to say.” a pause. “or maybe not.” he eyes the barrels next to you. “they’re probably not too pleased with me.”

“i can use some magic.” you shift about, pulling your spellbook out from the blanket. “i have a few spells written in here.” and you know the exact one you want. flipping through its pages, you settle on the one you desire.

minor illusion.

your eyes drift over the page’s contents… and then you close them. the apparition that you wish to conjure slowly comes together, piece by piece; you feel power rise in your chest. it’s a comforting sensation.

you open your eyes. between you and the surfacer is a small, red fish, swimming in the air.

the surfacer gasps loudly. he tries to leap to his feet but instead falls backwards, flailing. unbothered, the illusion keeps swimming - and you start laughing. the only person you’d show your magic to like this was lotlyn, and you never played pranks on her.

“that - you - huh?!” the surfacer is aghast. “is that magic?!”

you’re laughing too hard to reply, so you simply nod vigorously. you then reach out to the fish, gently allowing your hand to phase through it.

“By the Ten,” the surfacer breathes. he reaches out to it, too - gasping when he makes contact with it and is, presumably, unable to feel anything. “that’s incredible. just who are you?”

“it’s a simple spell,” you say, ignoring his question. “i can try to teach it to you if you’d like.”

the surfacer’s still marveling at the illusion. “no thanks. i’m not a very magical sort of man.” thankfully, he doesn’t press on about finding details about who you are.

he edges closer to the fish, peering at it up close. he then gasps again, slapping his own head softly. “shit,” he says. “i forgot. i meant to drop off the books here then get food for you.”

“i don’t need food,” you say.

the surfacer rolls his eyes. “you know what happens when you don’t eat? you starve,” he says. “or you get a stomach ache, and no one likes stomach aches. hang on, okay? i’ll get you something from the canteen. there should be leftovers…” he gets to his feet - successfully, this time, due to his lack of flailing about. “i’ll be back in a moment. you can read something in the meantime, if you’d like.”

the surfacer makes his way out of the room, quickly heading up the stairs. he closes the door behind him, leaving you with your illusory fish. you smile at it before quietly allowing it to dissipate. once it does, you’re truly alone.

and yet, you do not feel loneliness.

ii.

the surfacer brings you some type of stewish-looking meal and an amber-coloured drink. you’re not hungry - your appetite has been awry ever since you were locked away - but you can’t possibly pass up a chance at trying it out.

especially the drink. down in the sea, there was never any need for you to drink anything. of course, there were ways of getting around this limitation… but none of that compares to the simple joy of simply drinking on the surface.

besides water, all you’ve drank up here is some delightfully disgusting stuff known as “ale” - and so the presence of a new beverage certainly grabs your attention. you sniff at the mug which the liquid is in. the scent of it makes your whole face tingle.

“firewhiskey.” the surfacer answers your question before you can ask it. “try it.”

you’ve heard about whiskey before. firewhiskey, however, is entirely new to you. you stare down at it for a moment before bringing the mug to your lips. holding your breath, you take a big gulp - and the drink hits the back of your throat with such intensity that you begin choking.

the surfacer pats your back reassuringly. “can’t say i’m surprised.”

“that…!” you wheeze, putting the mug down next to you. “that was amazing!”

the surfacer laughs, shaking his head. “if you say so. it’s a lifesaver on cold nights at sea. maybe don’t drink it so fast.”

you nod eagerly, still coughing. the sensation was truly unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. how did surfacers manage to craft something like this? you take another sip - a small one. this time, you don’t choke, but some does run down your chin.

“this tastes like fire, i think,” you say.

the surfacer laughs again. “i’m inclined to agree, given its name. just stick to the firewhiskey and don’t go tasting any real fire.”

“i know,” you say, because you’ve read all about fire and what it can do. you even considered learning fire spells, though you decided they wouldn’t be of much use to you down in the sea. you drink more whiskey and its warmth spills through your whole body.

“the stew’s not all that interesting, compared to that,” the surfacer says. “it’s made out of fish.”

“fish?” you echo, glancing down at it. it’s murky and brown. “what type of fish?”

the surfacer shrugs. “fish.”

“aren’t you a fisher?” you tease, but you try the stew anyway. it’s nauseatingly salty, yet, somehow, good. like the firewhiskey, it makes you feel all the more warm. this type of warmth isn’t something you’re used to. not yet.

“i have no say in what goes on in the galley,” the surfacer replies, grinning. for such an odd person, he’s surprisingly easy for you to talk to. perhaps it’s because you’re odd, yourself… at least according to people back in laverathia. “what do you think about it?”

“it’s good,” you say.

the surfacer sits in front of you, clearly searching your face for something.

“...huh,” he says. “you’re either one hell of a good liar or you need to eat better food.”

“it is good!” you insist, bringing another spoonful of the stew to your lips. “it’s warm.”

the surfacer makes a small noise of understanding. “now i get it,” he says. “you’re not used to warm food yet. there’s better stuff out there.”

better stuff…? you beam, excited at the thought of being able to taste many new things. you’re fond of sea cuisine, but there are so many different meats and plants on the surface.

“port towns have the best food,” the surfacer continues. “stick to the cheaper ones. the expensive places aren’t worth it. for a bunch of haughty nobles, they sure love stealing people’s hard-earned gold.”

the very second he mentions nobles, the blood in your veins feels as if it has turned to ice: a strange sensation when coupled with the warmth of your meal. you’re a noble - one of the highest tiers of noble, in fact. but you’re not haughty… are you?

the surfacer’s still ranting away. “ - all for some tiny little portion in the middle of a giant plate! with a garnish you can’t even eat.”

you sip at more firewhiskey and eat more stew, saying nothing. luckily, the surfacer doesn’t seem to pick up on your silence as unnatural. he simply keeps on ranting about expensive eateries and the corrupt nobles that run them. you agree that they sound horrible, but do you have the right to agree, as a prince? the whiskey burns away in your throat.

“where’s your food?”

“ - years of schooling for it, they say. ridiculous - wait, what?” the surfacer’s rant finally comes to an end; you interrupted it. “i already ate. those’re leftovers. sorry, had to wait for the crew to clear out.” a grimace. “the chef loves giving me shit for taking seconds but it’s no big deal. he’s just a dick.”

“oh.” you look down at the stew. it seems like you’ve successfully changed the subject. you’re relieved, but you feel bad about that relief. is it really okay to hide so much from this person?

“...sorry,” the surfacer says, and you immediately look back up at him, wide-eyed. “i wish you could meet the crew. they’re annoying but most of ‘em are good people. when they’re not tormenting me, that is.”

so, he could tell that you were feeling bad… but wasn’t able to infer the correct reason. you don’t blame him for that, not at all. you try not to let your guilt show.

“the captain’s just strict,” he says. “she’s got a policy about picking up strays. not that you’re a stray!” a correction as quick as it is unneeded; you didn’t take any offense. “things happened in the past. bad things. she’s been through a lot.” a shrug.

“it’s okay,” you say. “i don’t need to meet anyone else. i like talking to you.”

the surfacer looks away. the pointed tips of his ears slowly go pink, then red.

“yeah. thanks. i, also, uh...” he still isn’t looking at you. “...yeah. like i said, i’ll try to come down more often. so. yeah.”

you smile, pleased that he seems to have liked your compliment, and finally resume eating your stew properly. it’s not as warm, now, but that’s just fine.

the surfacer doesn’t talk for a while. instead, he grabs one of the books that he brought down and begins leafing through it, eventually settling on a chapter.

you watch him as you eat, observing how the red hue of his flush slowly lightens until it fades away entirely. the surfacer’s skin is unlike that of your people. it’s smoother and brown; sunkissed. a scar runs across his left cheek and he has freckles that remind you of the constellations you’ve read about in books. you stare at his neck, as if its skin will gently split open to reveal gills.

“you can’t breathe underwater,” you blurt out. this gets him glancing up at you again.

“...you’re right. i sure can’t.”

you lean forward, examining him closer - still chewing on stew. it’s your last mouthful; the bowl’s just about empty, now.

“doesn’t it scare you,” you say, “being surrounded by the sea? your ship is so tiny compared to it. if a big wave hit your vessel and it sunk, you’d drown. we’re far from land, aren’t we?”

the surfacer balks at you for a moment.

“it’s not my ship,” he says. “and i try not to think about big waves potentially slamming into us and killing me. i’d rather not experience a knockdown.”

“that’s fair.” you don’t like thinking about bad things happening, either. “it’s still brave of you. the sea isn’t merciful.”

he smirks. “you’re plenty brave, yourself.” are you? “leaving your home like that to explore the surface takes guts. the land isn’t merciful, either.”

the sea and land are similar, in that sense, aren’t they? existing in harmony as their own entities, full of other living things… the connection makes you starry-eyed.

“i’ve spent years of my life on ships,” the surfacer says. “don’t think anything’s scarier than being at sea during a storm.” he shivers. “you feel so small. so helpless.”

storms… you wonder how they must be on the surface. you’ve experienced them down in the sea - seen the way the waters whirl; the way they push and pull. you’ve also seen the ships above get tossed about as if they weighed absolutely nothing. you wonder if this surfacer was ever on one of those boats.

the surfacer returns to his book and you observe him some more. his eyes are a sharp green which you’ve never quite seen before. his hair is brown and reminds you of the shipwrecks you’d explore as a child; of treasures hidden beneath broken, splintered wood.

you don’t want this surfacer’s ship to sink. talking to him makes those explorations seem bittersweet. as exciting as they were, people were once on those ships. people with their own stories. people with their own lives - lives which may have very well been lost to wreckage. you hope that, by exploring what remained of their passage, you were able to honor them… even if it was only a little.

and yet, despite it all…

“the sea can be kind, too,” you say, quietly, the sight of sunlight slipping through waves coming back to you. you think of the creatures that live within its waters - and you think of your people and their innovations, too. even now, the sea’s vastness is enrapturing. perhaps you’ll explore its depths fully someday.

“believe me, i know,” the surfacer says, grinning. “even if we’re just heading out to catch fish, a voyage is a voyage and i love voyages. the feeling you get, looking out to the horizon… seeing that point where the sky meets the sea.” he lets out a wistful little sigh. “it makes me feel like i can go anywhere. like i can do anything. there’s nothing like it.”

your chest tightens, because you get it. you understand exactly what he means. “that’s… freedom, isn’t it?”

his grin widens as he nods, and you smile, because you’ve been chasing after that very same feeling for so many years. you’ve had tastes of it but never truly felt it - not like he has. not yet.

“you’re a runaway,” the surfacer says, “so you’re probably looking for your own freedom, huh?”

a runaway… really? well, you did run away from home, so... “i am.”

“if only you weren’t so adamant about going on land.” the surfacer closes his book. “you’d be a big help on our ship. there’s something poetic about a fisher who can talk to fish. you can call them over - have ‘em swim right into my net!”

you chuckle. “i told you - i can’t talk to them all that much.” you can see the appeal of living a life on the sea like this, though. constantly on the move… seeing all sorts of sights. “isn’t your captain strict, anyway?”

the surfacer shrugs. “i could pretend that i scouted you on land. we can sneak you out of here in one of these barrels and work from there.”

there’s a hopeful edge to his voice that makes you consider it. it really, truly does. but you have to go to land. drifting barely above the ocean’s waters isn’t enough. you’d hardly be out of your father’s grasp.

you may even endanger this ship if you stay on it. you may endanger him. it’s too much of a risk.

“maybe someday,” you say.

“someday?” the stranger repeats. he’s disappointed, you can tell. “how long do you want to be on land, anyways?”

you didn’t plan that far. “for a while.” you love the sea too much to never go back to it. it’s just that going home isn’t an option. you don’t want to experience that fear again. you don’t want to be caged again.

the surface grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch.

“there are many things i want to see,” you say. “many things i want to study. i can’t give up on any of that. not after coming so far.”

the surfacer groans. “yeah, yeah. you’ve got your own plans. i get it. can’t expect you to ditch everything for some random fishing ship full of nobodies.”

you frown. “you’re not a nobody.”

he snorts. “uh, i definitely am.”

“you’re not!” you don’t mean to shout. it just happens.

the surfacer winces. “keep your voice down!”

“i would be doomed if it weren’t for you!” you’re not shouting anymore but you are upset and you make no effort to hide it. “how could you possibly be a nobody? nobody in this world is a nobody!”

“okay, okay,” the surfacer says. “damn. i was kidding, y’know. no need to get so upset.”

you fold your arms, still annoyed, and he snorts again.

“i bet you’re gonna do all kinds of big things, wherever you end up,” the surfacer muses. “when you’re all famous, i’m gonna get to brag to a tavern full of thugs that i got yelled at by you, once.”

your frown doesn’t budge. big things are never any good news for you. duty is more akin to a cage and heroism is far too unnatural. you’ve read about heroes in your books, after all. the pomp and ceremony that comes to surround them doesn’t appeal to you in the slightest. in fact, that sort of thing makes you feel uncomfortable. like you’re wearing a suit of armor that’s far too heavy.

“i’m just messing with you.” the surfacer gently nudges you. “i’m glad that i can help you out with whatever it is you’re doing. seriously. don’t be mad.”

“i’ll stop being mad if you stop calling yourself a nobody.”

“i told you, i was kidding!”

“well, i’m not!” how can anyone even joke about such a thing? “promise me that you won’t do it again.”

“seriously?”

“promise me!”

the surfacer sighs. “fine. i promise.”

he sounds sincere enough. your frown fades in the face of that sincerity and you unfold your arms.

“good,” you say.

“you’re a weird guy, you know that?” the surfacer shakes his head, laughing as he grabs a new book from the pile.

the way he says that - it’s strange. there’s a notable lack of malice in his tone; perhaps even fondness. it reminds you of the way lotlyn would tease you, while somehow being incredibly different at the same time.

“i get that a lot,” you admit. “but, i must say… you’re rather weird, yourself.”

he snorts. “thanks, i think,” he says.

and you smile.

iii.

time marches on and on, and the surfacer visits you each and every evening. there are nights when the two of you don’t talk very much, instead opting to read books together in a comfortable silence. there are nights when he’s too tired to speak; when he falls asleep down there with you and you have to wake him up, lest he get into trouble for not being in his bunk room. and there are nights where he’s energetic and rowdy, and the two of you talk and laugh and forget that you’re meant to be quiet altogether.

the surfacer’s been teaching you of different types of walking; of land legs and sea legs. you don’t get it all that much - walking is walking, isn’t it? thankfully, time manages to stifle the reflex that you have to try to swim upwards in the surface-air. such a thing would be impossible, of course, but the urge itself was disorienting. you’re a bit worried that swimming will feel strange the next time you do it…  but that’ll be another trouble, for another day. a day when you’re not confined to a tiny room, full of fish.

whenever the surfacer isn’t around, you practice this walking - keeping your steps light, focusing on retaining your balance. oddly enough, the movement of the ship upon the waves helps you. it’s as if the sea itself is guiding each step you take; preparing you for when you’re on land.

one day, while you are practicing your walking, you hear something.

heavy steps, approaching the door that separates you from the rest of the ship. you know the surfacer’s steps. they’re not heavy - and not exactly light, either. rather, they’re marked by a certain imprecision that’s somehow charming.

these steps are precise, and they’re definitely not charming.

these steps belong to someone else.

your breath catches and you dive into a corner of the room, wedging yourself between barrels of caught fish. your blanket is close by -  you stick your hand out, grabbing it so you can shroud yourself from view, just in case.

it happens so quickly. the very moment you’re properly concealed, the door opens.

you close your eyes and hold your breath.

“fuckin’ mages…” someone grumbles, and they continue their stomping. “better not be robbin’ me of my coin again.” there’s the sound of something slamming into a barrel, then grunting.

your throat tightens, but you open your eyes. now isn’t the time to be curious - you know it’s not.

and yet, here you are. curious.

the person doesn’t sound close to your hiding spot. maybe you can take a peek. just a tiny one. you shift the blanket ever-so-slightly; just enough so you can see whoever it is from your spot amongst the barrels.

across the room from you is... a woman. she’s wearing a long, dark coat, and her equally dark hair is held up in a tightly-knotted braid. she’s also tall. very tall. she seems to be a human… she must be tall for one. wait, are all humans tall? you’re not entirely sure. she’s certainly taller than your surfacer friend, and he’s taller than you. but he’s not a human. he’s a half-elf. so -

your thoughts are interrupted by the woman. she lets out a loud grunt as she yanks the lid off the barrel that she was previously doing something to. she tosses it behind her and the loud thud it makes against the wooden floor makes you gasp. luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice. no, she’s too busy glaring into the barrel. she reaches into the barrel and grabs onto a fish.

“you better be fresh, still,” she says, and you realize that she’s got quite a bit of muscle on her, too. “these mages and their bloody magic… works one moment then fucks up the next. i’ll rip that man’s head off myself if this batch goes sour like the last.”

her voice is low and gravelly, and her anger is apparent in the way that she’s squeezing the fish. it’s already been gutted, but you still wince at the sight of it in her grasp.

“c-captain?!” a familiar voice, with equally familiar steps. the surfacer comes bounding into the room. “what are you doing down here? i thought -”

“it’s my ship,” the woman - the captain - states. “i’ll go where i please.”

the surfacer is looking around the room, clearly panicked. did he think that she found you? you wish you could let him know that you’re all right.

“i know! of course! but...” the surfacer finally places his attentions on her and the sight of the fish in her grasp leaves him speechless. “...did you get that fish from a barrel?”

“what does it look like?!” she gestures at the opened barrel in front of her. “of course i fucking did! those atemcester cunts better not be makin’ a fool of this vessel again! when we make it to port, these fish better be fresh as the day we gutted them, or else i’ll march right into that city and gut some of them mages myself!”

“i told you,” the surfacer says. “if you break the seal on the barrel, the magic won’t last.”

there’s a pause. she slowly lowers the fish. “what?”

“the magic won’t last,” the surfacer repeats. he’s so nonplussed by her violent words that you’re a bit impressed. “it’s on the barrel. not the fish.”

you can practically see the captain’s brain piecing this information together. it seems to click for her because she suddenly drops the fish. it falls to the floor with a wet little thump.

you snort - your hand flies up to cover your mouth while the other covers yourself up with the blanket once more.

the ensuing silence is enough to make you want to scream. you’re back to not breathing - eyes clamped shut so the world around you goes dark. you’re hidden, she can’t see you, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine -

“did you just laugh at me?” the captain growls. is she talking to you? no. she can’t be. she can’t see you. can she? oh, shit, can she?!

“i did,” the surfacer states. what is he doing?! he didn’t laugh. you did! “you have to admit - it’s funny. the… barrel. of fish. wasted.”

there’s another silence.

it’s broken by the sound of a squelch. and then… a thwap.

“ow!” the surfacer whines. “what was that for?! i didn’t do anything!”

“we’ll use them as bait,” the captain grumbles. “move the barrel up deck. get going.”

“what?!” the surfacer’s alarmed, but he sounds fine enough. there’re more heavy steps. you move the blanket away from your face - just in time to see the captain leaving the room. she doesn’t close the door behind her.

“fuckin’ hell…” the surfacer rubs at his face, then looks around the room some more.

you wait a while - until you can’t hear any more of the captain’s footsteps. deeming it safe to come out, you stick one of your hands out from your hiding spot, wiggling your webbed fingers.

“woah!” the surfacer catches sight of you instantly. “you scared me!” he rushes over to your corner, grabbing onto your hand and helping you up. “that was terrifying. i thought she caught you.”

he leans against one of the barrels that you were hiding behind, seemingly exhausted.

you look around the room. on the floor, next to the fish that the captain dropped, is yet another fish.

pointing at it, you turn to the surfacer once more. “did she throw that at you?”

he lets out a long sigh.

“yes,” he says. “yes, she did. hit me right in the face.”

he tilts his head to show off a bright red mark on his cheek and you have to bite your tongue, lest you have a laughing fit.

“it’s a miracle that i haven’t lost my job with you around,” the surfacer says. “seriously. nothing short of a miracle.”

iv.

“we’ll be docking at a port soon.”

you peek over the top of your book. “really?!”

the surfacer nods, walking into the room. “yeah. in two or three days, give or take.” he’s holding some kind of satchel. “jeez, you ate that quickly?”

an empty bowl and equally empty flagon are placed neatly at your side. “i was hungry,” you say, though you’re not self-conscious about your suddenly voracious appetite. you’re mostly glad it’s returned to you.

“i can get more food for you, if you want,” the surfacer says as he gently drops the satchel in front of you.

“more firewhiskey would be nice,” you say, putting the book aside as you move to examine the satchel.

“firewhiskey’s not food.”

“it counts!” you gesture towards the satchel. “what’s this?”

“clothes,” the surfacer replies.

“clothes?”

“yeah. for you.” kneeling down, he opens up the satchel, revealing simple-looking surfacer garb. you immediately reach into it, grabbing onto the outfit.

“what material is this?” you hold the pants up, excited.

“some sorta monster hide. i dunno,” the surfacer says. “i stole ‘em from a crewmate.”

“you stole them?” you lower the pants. “is that allowed?”

“don’t worry about it,” the surfacer replies. “all his outfits look the same and he has way too many of them. plus, you can’t exactly go runnin’ around in… whatever that is.”

you look down at your clothes - traditional triton ones, albeit not that formal. “i don’t think they’re that bad,” you say.

“what are your pants even made out of?” the surfacer asks. “scales?”

you shrug. “some sort of monster scales.”

the surfacer picks up on you using his response to your question against him and he’s clearly unamused. you grin. that being said, maybe it would be best to part with your deep sea clothes...

“and your shirt,” the surfacer says. “is that made out of seaweed?”

“no,” you say. “seaweed is too thin to wear in public. it’s better to just eat it.”

“huh.” he doesn’t seem convinced. “...whatever. just change into that. i’ll go grab you some more food.”

he stands up and you frown. “what about my armor?”

“...maybe we can throw it overboard?”

“but it’s my armor. i like it.” you picked the shells out yourself. you may not want to be linked to your family right now but your armor is different. it’s not like the stuffy, overly ornate armor of the laverathian guards. it’s yours. it’s special.

“i don’t know if those shells even qualify as armor…” the surfacer frowns. “...wear whatever you want, i guess. i’ll be back in a sec.”

he turns on his heel, making his way out of the room.

“bring more than one flagon,” you call out after him. he gives you a pointed look as he closes the door behind him.

you stare at the clothes in front of you: light-yet-sturdy pants dyed a dark blue... tall black boots made out of some smooth sort of hide. there’s also a brown belt and a shirt made from thick, white cloth.

you get changed quickly. the first thing you realize upon putting everything on is that surfacer clothes are heavy.

heavy and warm. way too warm.

you like feeling warm, for the most part.

but this? this is too warm.

why?!

you spend less than half an hour in the new outfit and already feel like you’re overheating. you end up unfastening your shell pauldron so you can take the damned shirt off. you throw it onto the floor and stare down at it disdainfully.

when the surfacer returns, you’re still staring at it.

“did something happen here?” he asks, closing the door behind him as he walks over.

“it’s too hot,” you say. “it feels like it’s trying to suffocate me.” you catch sight of the bottle in his hand and your face brightens. “firewhiskey!”

the surfacer hands the firewhiskey over to you and you marvel at it. a whole bottle!

“seriously?” he picks up the shirt. “guess it’s thicker than mine, but i don’t see the big deal.”

“maybe i can wear one of yours?” you suggest.

“i don’t have any to spare,” the surfacer retorts, his ears turning pink.

“oh.” you frown. “then…”

“should i steal another one?” he asks, and you shake your head, because you have an idea.

grinning widely, you put the bottle of whiskey down… then grab onto the blanket that the surfacer got for you on your first night here.

the surfacer has no reaction to this. he just stares. “what?”

“i can use this!” you say. “i read about it in a book, once. hold on.”

you wrap the blanket under your arm and drape it over your shoulder. like your pants, the material is dark blue - but it’s flowy and free; far more light than the shirt. you can actually breathe with it on.

“there!” you puff your chest out, pleased. “much better!”

the surfacer continues to stare. “i’m… not sure if this counts as being conducive to blending in,” he says. “also - it’s way too long in the back.”

“is it?” you haven’t tied it yet, either. “can you cut off some of it?”

“so much for that cloth,” the surfacer groans, standing up. “it wasn’t cheap, y’know.”

“it’s going to even better use, now!” you chirp. the surfacer sighs as he takes his dagger out of the case strapped at his side. in one quick motion, he cuts the cloth shorter - then even ties it for you.

it feels far better than the stuffy shirt did. you can actually move in it. you re-fasten your pauldron then put your hands on your hips. “well?!”

the surfacer looks a little bemused, but he eventually smiles. “it suits you. that’s for sure.”

“thank you!” you reach out, grabbing onto the spare piece of long cloth that the surfacer just cut off for you. “this can go here.” you loop it around your arm, tying it in place. “see? nothing went to waste!”

“...guess you don’t need to blend in,” the surfacer admits. “after all, you’re obviously a triton. that alone will get you attention. maybe you should just stick to your old outfit.”

you pout, and you don’t even need to reply to that before the surfacer barks out a laugh.

“never mind, never mind!” he rubs at his eyes. “do whatever you want. it looks good.”

“you think so?!” you’re back to beaming. “i feel so surface-y.”

“good for you.” he picks up the shirt that you deemed unsatisfactory. “guess i’ll toss this back in clive’s trunk.” he tosses it on the floor once more.

“is clive the name of the person you stole from?”

“yup.” the surfacer stretches. “glad that’s settled. what should we do with your old outfit?”

you kneel down, staring at it. you don’t feel attached to it - it’s not as special as your armor.

“i suppose we can throw it overboard,” you say. “i’d rather not take it to a merchant or something. that might cause trouble.” it might alert them to your true identity. you don’t know how versed surfacers are in the ways of your people, after all. laverathia is very isolationistic, but…

“alright.” the surfacer’s fine with that; he doesn’t ask any questions. “i should do that now, then. the rest of the crew’s busy. no one’ll catch me and ask dumb questions.”

the two of you stuff your old outfit in the satchel. the surfacer ties its string around it once more. however, as he’s about stand up to leave, he hesitates.

“you’ve been down here for a while,” he says. “haven’t you wanted to see the world out there at all?”

you shrug. truth is, you have. more than anything. but you know that it’s impossible right now.

the surfacer stares down at the satchel for a moment. he then reaches out to the bottle of firewhiskey, popping it open before taking a long sip.

when he puts it back down, he looks right at you. “i think it’s about time that you take a peek.”

you pale at the thought of being found out now - this close to land. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“oh, c’mon,” the surfacer says. “you can’t go a whole voyage without being on deck once.”

“i was on deck when i first arrived,” you say, trying to stifle the curiosity blooming in your chest.

the surfacer rolls his eyes.

“i won’t force you to,” he says. “but need i remind you that no one saw you when you arrived? i think we can get away with a peek.”

“i thought you were worried about losing your job,” you say, and the surfacer shrugs.

“it’s less of a concern at the moment,” he says. “are you in?”

he stands up, holding his hand out for you to take it.

you know you shouldn’t. that it’s foolish; a needless risk. but there’s a determination in the surfacer’s eyes, and you realize that you trust him. that you believe in him.

and so, you take his hand.

he pulls you to your feet, and the two of you quietly leave the room - the surfacer holding on to the satchel.

beyond the door of the room is a staircase, going up to the deck. the surfacer leads the way and, as you follow him, you can hear the sound of the waves… louder than you have in days. and once you’re both on deck, the wind is in your hair and your heart feels so full, it’s as if it’s about to burst right out of your chest.

the moon shines above you; full and light. countless stars dot across the skies. they remind you of that night… that night when you were looking so very closely at the surfacer. a part of your mind quietly makes a note to research constellations more, sometime.

“come on,” the surfacer says, and the two of you walk over to the edge of the ship. you forgot how large it actually is. the room you’ve spent your time in is so small.

the sight of the sea is breathtaking. moonlight shines down upon its surface, its calm waves gently pushing the ship along in the night. it’s too dark to make out what lies on the horizon, but the mystery only adds to the sight’s appeal. the saltwater air is so refreshing. so new yet so familiar. your eyes burn.

“ready?” the surfacer asks, and you look over to him. he has the satchel in his hand, danging over the edge of the ship, and the way the wind makes his hair whip about his face makes you dizzy with emotion.

you can’t even speak so you just nod and, just like that, the surfacer drops the satchel down into the sea. it hits the water down below with barely a splash. you both stare at it as it’s swallowed into the depths.

it feels significant. like a true farewell to the past.

the surfacer grabs onto your arm again, jerking his head towards the room you’ve been hiding away in. you nod at him once more and the two of you hurriedly head back below deck. back to the room filled with barrels of caught fish.

the surfacer closes the door behind you and you reflexively head to the corner that you first set yourself up in, plopping yourself down. the feeling of the wind upon your face, the sight of the moon and the stars and the sea and the deck and the everything… you’re getting more dizzy by the moment.

you wonder: was that it? was that freedom?

it’s intoxicating. mesmerizing.

you grab the bottle of firewhiskey and knock a big gulp back. you still cough every time you do that, but it’s worth it.

“are you alright?” the surfacer asks, sitting next to you.

“i’m fine,” you say. the moment was so short, yet so… wonderful. “thank you. i think i needed that.” you didn’t even know you did.

“no problem,” the surfacer says. he then reaches into one of his pockets, digging around in there for something. “...here.”

you hold your hand out and he drops a strange, blue object right in the middle of your palm. it seems to be wrapped in some sort of waxy paper.

“you look a little shaken up,” he says. “whenever i’m shaken up, i eat one of those.”

you sniff at the object, and he chuckles.

“you have to unwrap it,” he says. “like this.” he takes it again, twisting the paper’s edges so that whatever food is inside is freed. it falls back onto your palm.

it feels… sticky. “what is it?” you ask, examining it.

“salt water taffy,” the surfacer says. “my favorite. it’s candy.”

candy?! you’ve obviously never had candy from the surface before. “were you hiding this from me?”

the surfacer laughs. “listen! i had a very limited amount! i had to eat ‘em sparingly. didn’t buy all that much when we docked last time.”

you smile and put the taffy in your mouth.

it’s chewy. and kind of gooey, in a dry sort of way. salty, but still sweet.

“this is amazing,” you say. “this is the best thing i’ve ever tasted!”

“right? it’s incredible.” the surfacer seems proud.

“do you have any more?!” you’re hooked.

the surfacer reaches into his pocket, pulling a few more pieces of the candy out. “these are the last of the batch.” he hands another piece to you and you immediately begin trying to unwrap it.

the surfacer takes one of the candies, too - unwrapping it with ease.

“i wasn’t planning on hanging out with any runaway tritons,” he continues. “if i knew what fate had in store for me, i would’ve bought more.”

that’s right. soon, you’ll be apart from him. he’ll be heading back out to sea while you’ll be finding your footing on land. you’ve wanted this for so long - have given up so much for this. you don’t have second thoughts and you don’t have any regrets.

but you will miss him. you’ll miss him a lot. sitting in this room with him; practicing walking with him. reading and talking and joking around. eating strange meals and drinking whiskey.

“maybe someday, we can eat more together,” you say. “i can even buy them for you. to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me.”

the surfacer laughs.

“you know what?” he says. “i’d like that. i’d really like that.”

v.

you’re absolutely covered in fish.

you shift around. they’re very slimy. very uncomfortable, too.

the surfacer came up with a plan: upon docking, he’d smuggle you out of the ship and into town via one of the ship’s fish barrels. that way, none of his crewmates would see you… and you’d finally make it to land.

finally.

of course, every single one of the ship’s barrels was essentially stuffed full of fish. selecting the most empty one - without having the luxury of a trial-and-error process, thanks to the magic seals on the barrels themselves - was quite a feat. you’re not sure if you and the surfacer were entirely successful in choosing the best barrel… but you sure did knock on a lot of them; pressing your ears against each one, searching for the one that sounded the emptiest. also... getting inside the barrel? quite the ordeal.

at any rate, you’re on land, now - being lugged along by the surfacer. he’s surprisingly strong, but you guess that’s to be expected of a sailor. you can hear the bustle of people outside, yelling and laughing and shouting even though it’s still so very early.

the surfacer eventually sets your barrel down, tugging off its lid.

he stares down at you. “how do i get myself into these situations?”

“it’s a bit late to be asking that, now,” you quip, and he laughs as he helps you out of the barrel.

the process goes a bit wrong and the entire thing ends up falling over. a bunch of fish spill out onto the cobblestone path of the alleyway. your satchel - which holds your spellbook and your shell from home - falls, too.

“it’s fine.” the surfacer bends down to retrieve your fallen satchel. “it’s normal to find fish in random places when it comes to port towns. trust me.”

you can’t really focus on that, though. not when you’re entirely overwhelmed by how solid everything feels.

this is land. beneath your feet, there’s… no movement. nothing at all. there’s no ebb. no flow. you take a step forward, avoiding stepping on any of the fish. you also end up lurching forward, almost slamming right into the wall of the alleyway. luckily, the surfacer grabs your arm before you can make contact.

“see? i told you,” he says, handing you the satchel. “sea legs. land legs. it’s a real thing!”

“it’s too still,” you say.

“you get used to it.” the surfacer does seem sympathetic. “one sec. wait here - and try not to puke.” a pause. “unless you need to puke. in which case, puke away.” he grabs onto the barrel, wobbling along as he places it behind some large crates in the alleyway.

you watch him while he does so, but you still feel like your legs are about to give out from under you.

barrel hidden, the surfacer returns to your side quickly. “here. eat this.” he reaches into his pocket, holding out a single piece of salt water taffy.

you gape at him. “how?! i thought we ate all of them!”

“i’m always prepared,” he says. “plus, here’s a secret of mine.” he leans in close to you, brushing your hair back as to whisper in your ear. “salt water taffy cures everything.”

you’re amazed. you unwrap the candy, popping it in your mouth… and it does help. the now-familiar taste is grounding; its sweetness somehow stabilizes you.

“is this candy made out of magic?” you ask.

“who knows? you can buy more yourself. remember: you owe me.” the surfacer grabs onto your arm again. “now, c’mon. it’s time to ditch all these fuckin’ fish.”

“do you think your captain will notice?” you ask as he leads you out of the alleyway. “that this barrel is gone, i mean.” you’re surprised that the surfacer’s content to just abandon it. he truly is strange.

“probably. she’ll probably just assume ruffians got to it or somethin’,” he says. “it happens. might make for an awkward visit at the tavern, later. the captain loves her fights…” a sigh. “it’s either that or she breaks some poor atemcesterian’s face for selling her a faulty seal, so we’ll be getting light carnage either way.”

that’s not so bad, you guess.

as the two of you exit the alleyway, you take a moment to marvel at the sight of the port town before you. there are so many surfacers… more than you’ve ever seen before. people have all sorts of goods that they’ve brought in. some are even setting up small market stalls, their shiny trinkets and gems catching the light of the first rays of sunrise.

speaking of the sunrise… you point up towards it.

“the sun,” you say. “it’s so close.”

“you shouldn’t look right at it,” the surfacer says. “...you know, i’m worried about you all over again.”

“don’t be!” you lower your hand, smiling at him. “i’m fine. i’ve got my spells.”

“if you say so,” the surfacer says. “guess now’s not the time for cold feet, anyways.”

you don’t entirely understand what he means, but you do smile at a tiny surfacer girl who’s staring at you, wide-eyed, from across the street. she ducks behind a woman who’s with her, clearly shy.

“just promise me you’ll be careful,” the surfacer says; you shift your attention back to him. “i know you want to assume the good in people and all, but there’s… there’s bad people out there. seriously.”

you shift, slinging your satchel over your shoulder. you know he’s right - you’re not that clueless. but you can’t think about the world like that. you have to believe that things will work out; that people are good. that they are kind. when you were locked away, that was the thought that kept you together. the thought of light beyond the dark.

of course, you also know that the surfacer means well. so you smile at him. “i’ll be careful,” you say. “i promise. i’ll do my best.”

the surfacer nods but doesn’t say anything. the two of you stand there for a moment.

the docks are a ways off from here, but you still think of the ship. when you first boarded that vessel, your past loomed over you. it threatened to engulf you. however, you’ve realized that, with each passing day, more and more distance came  between you and everything that happened. favorable winds blew you further and further away from the confines of that room in the castle. and as you stand under the clear blue skies of this port town, you feel…

free.

“thank you for everything,” you tell the surfacer.

“yeah. of course. thank you for making that voyage one to remember.” the surfacer smiles. “i hope you find the freedom you’re looking for.”

it’s as if he read your mind.

you can’t think of anything to say in response. nothing has enough meaning. so you simply opt to run right into him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

it reminds you of the night you met - when he agreed to help you. he was so alarmed, back then. now? he’s steady. an anchor in the middle of churning storm- waters.

“gods. you smell like fish,” he says, laughing.

“aren’t you used to it by now?” you grin against him.

“oh, of course,” he replies. “didn’t i tell you? can’t be a sailor and not stomach the smell of fish.”

that gets you laughing, too. you part from him and he’s still smiling.

“y’know, i never asked for your name,” he says.

it takes so much to not blurt it out.

i’m reides.

the urge wells up in your throat, threatening to spill. but the weight that accompanies the rest of your name - are you even a laverath, anymore? didn’t you bid farewell to that name? - keeps everything firmly sealed behind closed lips.

“i figured that you have your reasons for not sharing it and all,” the surfacer continues; not giving you a chance to give into that urge. you manage to swallow it down.

“yes. i… can’t tell you,” you say. “not yet.” it’s too risky. you don’t want harm to come to him. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s no big deal. you just can’t learn mine ‘till i get yours. got it?” the surfacer winks and it’s such a goofy sight that you almost laugh again. almost. “i’d like to learn it someday, though. and i’d like you to learn mine, too.” a pause. “so. you better run into me again, you hear?”

you grin. “i will. i’m sure of it.”

“okay. then this isn’t a goodbye.” the surfacer sticks his hands into his pockets. “this is a… see you later.”

“right,” you say. “i’ll see you later.”

the surfacer stares at you for a moment as if he has something else he’d like to say, but he apparently decides against it. instead, he smiles warmly. then he turns on his heel. without another word, he begins walking off in the direction of the docks - fading into the crowd so quickly that it startles you.

you get an urge to chase after him, but you remember your purpose. you remember the promise you made to lotlyn. you wanted to see the surface; to travel and study. you’ve given up everything to realize this dream.

so you clutch your satchel a bit tighter. you turn around - away from the docks - and look up at that bright blue sky once more.

and you take a step forward.