Formal training. Glorianna looked into Lee’s eyes and felt relief that there was someone else here who understood the world as she did—and who knew enough to ask the question.
“Can we approach that spot more slowly?” she asked.
“Why would you want to be doing that?” Michael said.
“Because that spot is not natural. I think that’s why we all reacted to it. So if the Eater of the World didn’t create it, I’d like to figure out what did.”
Michael sighed. “I’ll talk to Kenneday. Although, with the excitement you’ve given him, I don’t know if his offer of a ship is going to hold beyond this voyage.”
As soon as they were the only ones at the bow, Lee said, “What are you expecting to find, Glorianna?”
“Maybe nothing,” she replied. “Maybe more than one answer.” She shivered. She’d felt warm enough before, but now, without the comfort of Michael’s sheltering presence, she couldn’t seem to hold off the cold as well.
Caitlin made her way over to them, looking green and shaky. Before she could say anything, Michael returned. Kenneday was clearly unhappy about returning to water that had produced such a reaction, but he turned the ship back toward that spot, running with fewer sails to cut their speed.
“Tell the captain to stay to the right of those Dark currents,” Glorianna said.
“How is he supposed to tell?” Michael asked. “It’s not like the water is a different color.”
Ephemera, hear me.
“Lady of Light,” Michael whispered a minute later at the same time some of the sailors began shouting and pointing.
Some kind of seaweed now filled a large patch of the sea, defining the knot of Dark currents. Glorianna held on to the rail and opened herself to those currents. Prepared this time for the strength of it, she recognized it for what it was. It sickened her and saddened her. And excited her.
There was something awful and seductive about that patch of water with its undulating seaweed, something compelling in its malevolence. And the lure to join that water, to feel the embrace of those seaweed limbs as desire became an anchor that would pull her under was almost overwhelming.
She gripped the railing until her hands hurt, and forced herself to focus on the clear, clean sky until the ship was once again turning away from that spot.
“It’s an anchor,” Glorianna said, still keeping her eyes fixed on the sky. “That’s why the White Isle is visible as ships approach it. But who could have done this?” And why would anyone who cherished the Light create something so deadly?
“Glorianna, darling, I’m hearing the words but they’re not making sense,” Michael said.
His voice steadied her enough that she let go of the rail with one hand so that she could turn and face him.
“There is Dark and Light in all things, Magician. In all people, in all places. Somehow the dark feelings have been cast out, but the connection can’t be severed completely. By trying to create a place that stands only in the Light, the people on the White Isle have created a dark landscape.”
Hours later, Michael sat in the stern, his whistle held loosely in his hands while he stared at the water and wondered if he would ever trust the look of anything again.
“This is sweet water,” Kenneday said happily, his hands steady on the wheel. Gone was the man who had grimly followed Glorianna’s request to head south again in order to find a current of Light that would help them approach the White Isle. “Not the direction I’d usually take to reach Atwater’s harbor, but I’ve made note of it in my log, and I’ll be looking for this channel from now on.” He glanced over his shoulder at Michael. “Why don’t you play us a tune?”
“Don’t feel like it,” Michael replied, not meeting Kenneday’s eyes.
Kenneday jerked as if hit. “I’ve never known you to refuse to play a bit of music. What’s troubling you? That your lady friend recognized that dark water and you didn’t?”
“I don’t feel like playing,” Michael snapped—and then flinched. What damage had he done in that moment?
“More to the point, you don’t want to feel at all,” Glorianna said, joining them.
“Leave me be,” Michael warned. Those green eyes of hers saw too much. That heart of hers understood too much—and not enough.
“To do what?” she asked. “Close yourself off? Refuse to be what you are? You can’t hide from your feelings, Magician. You can’t hide from your own heart.”
He surged to his feet, aware that the sailors near them had stopped their work, and that Kenneday was watching and listening. But the feelings bubbled over. “This morning we brushed the edge of a place dark enough to make you faint. A place made by ordinary people, if I understood what you were saying.” He waved a hand to indicate the men on the ship. “For days now, you’ve been telling me I can do more to the world than the people around me. So how can I dare feel anything when so many people’s lives hang in the balance of a mood? Happiness is safe enough, I suppose, but no one stays happy all the time. People call me an ill-wisher, but I’ve no desire to be the unintentional cause of misery.” And how would he ever know how much misery he had caused—or if he had unknowingly created dark places in the world?
“You are the balance, the bedrock, the sieve that protects Ephemera from all the wind wishes and surface feelings that flow through the hearts of all the people who live in your landscapes.”
“What about my heart, my feelings?” Michael asked, raising his voice close to a shout. “What happens when I want to piss and moan about something?”
Glorianna put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You tell the world you have emotional gas and it should ignore you when you fart!”
There was no sound except the wind in the sails and the ship slicing through the water.
Then someone farted, a little poot that broke the silence.
One sailor choked on a snort of laughter, which made another man sputter, which made another laugh out loud, and suddenly all the men around them were guffawing while Michael faced a woman who looked ready to tie him to an anchor and throw him overboard.
He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say but sure he had better say something. Before he had the chance, Glorianna turned on her heel and walked away.
Scowling, Michael went to the rail, wanting no comments, no discussion, no company.
“I’ve heard there’s an art to groveling,” Lee said.
Figures that one would ignore the emotional “no trespassing” signs, Michael thought sourly. “I’m not groveling.”
Lee, the ripe bastard, laughed.
Michael tucked his whistle inside his coat. “Maybe I’m groveling.”
“There’s no maybe about it,” Lee said cheerfully. “You make her nervous, so she’s going to find you more annoying than most people.”
“I can’t seem to keep my balance these days,” Michael said softly. “I sound like a fool half the time and act like a fool the other half.”
“Not as bad as that,” Lee replied, smiling. “Nothing has changed, Michael.”
“Everything has changed.”
“Yes. Exactly.” Lee braced his hands on the rail. “You’re beginning to understand the world, Magician.”
“Maybe.” Michael waited a beat, then added, “I’m not groveling.”
Lee’s smiled widened. “Suit yourself.”
The man could be more helpful, Michael grumbled to himself as he made his way to the bow, where Glorianna was doing a fine imitation of a merciless figurehead. After all, it’s not like I can pick a few flowers and try to charm her out of her mood.
He stopped suddenly, remembering another man trying to charm an unhappy woman by giving her a bouquet of wildflowers. He’d loved the man. Still did when the images came back to him so painfully clear. And he’d loved the woman, despite her pain and rages.