For a while, the only word Uban really heard was “Sacrifice”. Once again he remembered when the great beast opened its pointed maw, and the smell of its breath and the wide, open space of darkness that was its interior. He thought for sure it would clamp down on him for his insolence. What he did was pretty stupid. And if he’d been thinking about it longer he probably would have told the creature that he could hold lighting in his hands and call it to heel like an obedient dog. And then done his best to live up to that description. But no. In his panic and stupidity he nearly got himself killed. Nearly. 

Uban eyed the pistols, wondering how their presence had slipped his notice—even before the turtle came. And what exactly had he planned to do with them...?  It’s not like shooting the turtle would have done anything...unless he shot the eye, and that would blind it. But they’d both die. 

“Unnecessary? So you mean to tell me there was a right answer to that? What was I supposed to say?” He was glad of the oars as he paddles back to the ship. Their sloshing gave him a rhythmic sound to ground him and the effort gave him somewhere to put his energy. No more stray tentacles of lightning squeezed out of his fingers, though his eyes hadn’t yet gone fully green.

Uban sighed in concert with the moaning of the oars. “I get that you can’t prepare me for everything...” he looked down at the passing blue water below him, noting how empty it seemed. Yet he knew somewhere down there was a turtle the size of a galleon at least, lurking without sound or ripple or bubble. “But you can at least tell me what exactly we’re going to summon from the depths when you’ve got a mind to ask it questions? I mean c’mon, don’t they got books on this? Not that I’m great with letters anyway, but—“ he shrugged helplessly. “C’mon you gotta give me something. Throw me a bone, Pieter...What if next time I offend the shit out of something and we both die? Y’know? How did you learn?” 

And Uban recalled an albeit hazy memory of the two of them on the beach after the mermaids, after Uban felt like his heart had been grasped with warm, comforting hands and then mercilessly plunged into icy black water. Pieter had told him how he learned about mermaids. And suddenly  he regretted asking the question. The answer, he guessed, was probably not a happy one. 

He shook his head, letting his lips flap together like a horse as he sighed. “I don’t know, Pieter. I just feel a little out of my league here. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t want to be your apprentice—I do. I really do. I just...do you....do you think I’m cut out for it? Truthfully?” Uban wanted to be. He was unsure when Pieter had first asked him but since he’d had time to mull it over, and especially now that he was beginning to understand just how vast the ocean really was, he decided it was really something he wanted. He had never made anything of himself, not once in his life. And he’d gone from being one kind of lowborn sap to another, if not progressively lower. Murderer of one of his good friends was a hard reputation to fully shake off, even though he’d killed since. This was a chance for him to actually accomplish something. Be someone. But....he thought of the turtle. It’s mouth. Those eyes. And his asinine offering. Would be he be so lucky the next time?

—

Rohaan was already asleep. Not deeply, but enough that his dreams of warped reality made it difficult for him to reconcile where he was when the sound of footsteps coming below woke him. He moaned a little in indignation and then with a grimace reached over the side of the hammock to snatch Uban’s wool blanket and pulled it over himself. His body didn’t seem to want to work like it should; it had been a very long time since he’d been pushed to that degree. But at least he got the blanket—a draft of air kept leaking in through the hole in his shirt where only a few days ago he’d been shot. Now the hole, the scar, and the iron ball he wore as a necklace now were the only reminders it had ever happened. 

He shut his eyes, allowing himself to fall back asleep more intentionally this time, when he heard heavy footsteps—either Wheel or Berlin by the weight of them—and then..... Wheel had asked Hana (or he guessed it was her by the much lighter, shod footsteps) about blood magic.

Rohaan didn’t know much about it himself, just that it was something that existed. But he knew why Wheel was asking. Barizians. He kept his eyes closed in case more could be gleaned by pretending to be asleep, and he listened carefully.