“Can..trips...” it was obvious by the way he swished the word around in his mouth that it was the first time Uban had ever tasted it. He had absolutely no idea what cantrips were. Was that another name for some other element that he didn’t know? Or a technique of some kind? That same perplexed look crossed his face and he paused a moment from his throwing bolts to give her a blinking stare. He shook his head and laughed despite himself. “I’m hopeless,” he said lightly, laughing. “I ain’t an educated man and though I’ve been around, there ain’t much you need to know to sail on a ship. Much less if you’re a pirate.” His grin was wide and wild, his eyes dancing merrily—-his near permanent expression. But he did not mention his severe lack of an education with any hint of inferiority or shame. Uban knew that for most of his life, he had no reason to be educated, and so he wasn’t. He needed to know about the seasons and about the soil and about livestock, some carpentry and other mending. And more recently in his life he needed to know about ships and knots and combat. 

“You’ll have to bring me up to speed one of these days, but it will take you a long while.”

They went back and forth for a few more rounds as Hana explained the markings and how they worked; already Uban’s mind was reeling. He had never been able to project his lightning before, and now that he knew the key to unlocking that skill, there were many possibilities open to him. The more he did it, the easier it became and if it weren’t for his dwindling energy, it would have been almost casual the way he flicked it out and sent a bluish streak up into the air to the medallion. 

Hana suggested a break and Uban looked down at himself as if assessing his condition for the first time, like he hadn’t noticed. But his hands were shaking gently but steadily, and now that he was thinking about it, his stomach felt violently empty. For a moment, he looked like a child being told to wait to open his birthday presents, like he might protest. But Uban gave a soft laugh and a single nod. “Oh...hah, yeah. Probably a good idea. I could go for some food...where’s Rohaan? I’ll see if I can put him up to finding us some more grub.” When he didn’t see the boy after a quick glance around, he took a step towards where Berlin was seated in the distance and began, “Hey B—“

Uban halted, one foot still in the air in mid step, and then he pivoted on his planted heel and walked back the other direction towards their banked fire. If the cringe on his face wasn’t enough to explain it, he said, “Um, never mind. That’s not a good look the Cap’n’s got on him. Considering I don’t see Rohaan OR Wheel, I’m going to take a wild guess and say something happened. But nothing’s on fire and nobody’s dead, so it must not have been that bad,” he said without a hint of sarcasm or jest. “Still, something ain’t right. If I’m reading Berlin’s expression right, it won’t do any good to get involved. Sometimes with those two, you just gotta put your hands up and take a few steps back ‘till the fire burns itself out. In the meantime, I think I’m going to go rummage the hold and see what else we got to eat down there and see if I can put something together. I’m a miserable cook though. Sorry.” He gave his signature smile, but his eyes were not as bright, not so carefree as they had been.

—-

Rohaan’s fluid body was like a roll of roiling smoke, tentacles curling and reaching and grabbing all at once. He would have preferred to find a fish and rip it apart as a shark, but all the creatures nearby had fled or hid in his presence. It gave him some surprise then when he caught the glimmer of scales out of the corner of his eye and, before he could turn, he heard a voice.

Some muffled part of him wanted to be enraged and lash out at this intruder. But then...he kind of didn’t. He had never seen a mermaid in person before but he’d seen the figurehead of Tevira on the Borealis and had heard Pieter wax poetic about them many times, or seen drawings of them in some of the books Berlin had. She was young and pretty with perfect pale breasts and smooth skin, though that was not what Rohaan noticed about her—he did not care for those things yet. But in the way a fire draws the eye, so Rohaan stared at her. Her scales glittered softly in the water-filtered sunlight, her light hair swirled in delicate patterns as though it was flowing in a slow breeze; it caught the light and gave her a sort of glow. Her eyes were gently curious and her voice as cool and clear as spring dew, like cool hands on flushed skin.

She asked him a question and something inside of him burned to answer, even though typically he would have snarled and snapped at any stranger bold enough to approach him AND ask personal questions. His great tentacles fanned out around him almost like her hair; elegant in a more rustic sort of way. The ends of them, which had been lashing and grabbing and crushing and dropping earlier, were now gently curled this way and that.

“I’m angry at a lot of things,” was his quick answer, the one he would have given to anyone. But almost unbidden, more began to pour out of him. Things he didn’t even know or realize himself. “No...not angry. I mean, yeah. Angry. But mostly scared.” This was more than even Berlin on a good day would be able to get out of him. His skin had stopped pulsating an angry red and was now a cool brownish gray to match the rock he anchored himself to. “I’ve been hurt a lot and I don’t want to be hurt anymore. Especially not by...” he genuinely searched for the word. To call Berlin his friend was making light of it. “My...family,” he decided. Words kept pouring out of him. “I have a lot of enemies. So...my family is important. If they hurt me too, I...don’t know what I’d do. My real family is gone and they’re the only people who have ever cared about me or been kind. I don’t have anything else.”

The desperation in his tone as clear, sharp, and painful to hear. If he’d been in his own shape, he might have cried a little, as the Mermaid’s presence was like a poultice that drew out poison form a wound. Though he wasn’t aware of it now, he would be glad he did not, later. Everything about the exchange was uncharacteristic of him. He did not open up or even take kindly to strangers—he had absolutely no reason to believe that anyone out there had his best interest in mind and always assumed they did not. What was more, he did not discuss deep fears and anxieties with anyone except for Berlin, and even then it would be vague allusions only brought out after serious coaxing by a man who had a magical ability to charm and put others at ease. And yet, he was doing the equivalent of tearing his clothes in a public square, there under the waves where he knew he had always been safe. She tore down the hard-won walls of his inner fortress with only a look and a gentle word.