Page 19 of Storm and Sea

“You do it.” Nyel countered.

“And I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen. I can read them—or at least the few I talk to.”

“You talk to humans!?” Nyel said, almost leaping to his feet in excitement when the sting in his foot forced him to remain seated. “Isn’t that dangerous? Don’t they… you know…”

“Attack me?” Atreus finished. “If they knew what I was, yeah, they probably would.”

“They don’t?” And the scope of what Atreus was saying sank in. “They don’t know what you are. They think you’re a human like them.”

“Yes. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Nyel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Atreus was walking the razor’s edge of life and death. One slip-up, one splash of water, one raindrop, and he’d be exposed. If he’d managed to keep himself hidden since he was thirteen, surely Nyel could manage. Right?

“I still want to see it.” Nyel insisted, and he could almost hear Nephi’s cautionary words in the back of his head.

“That’s too bad.” Atreus shot out. “Heal and go home.”

Nyel was standing now, ignoring the pain in his foot. “Why not?”

“Because you’re running from your problems, and I’m not gonna enable you. Go home and deal with it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? Let me guess,” he held up a hand, stopping Nyel from speaking. “Your mother or father told you to do something, and you don’t want to do it. So, instead of handling it like an adult, you ran. Am I in the ballpark?”

Nyel didn’t know what a ballpark was, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this stranger talk to him like that.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it isn’t.” Atreus rolled his eyes. Treating Nyel like a whiny child.

“You have no idea what you’re asking me to do!” Nyel shouted.

“And you don’t know how good you have it!” Atreus recoiled at his own words. “I-I…” he stuttered, but nothing came out.

A look of instant regret crossed Atreus’s features, and that’s when Nyel felt like an intruder—not for being in the tower but for uncovering something Atreus wanted to keep hidden. A truth that, judging by the expression on his face, he didn't want to reveal.

“I’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Nyel said a moment later, sparing Atreus the need to explain himself.

Nyel wouldn’t go home, though. Despite Atreus’s words stinging his insides like the quill of a lionfish, he wasn’t about to surrender so easily. He’d finally found the strength to stand up for himself and take control of his life. He wasn’t about to back down now. He’d figure out where to go in the morning.

“Take the mattress,” Atreus said, arranging his lumpy blankets beside the fire.

“The what?”

“The white soft thing over there,” he gestured without looking. “It smells like smoke, but it’s clean otherwise.”

Careful not to irritate his newly bandaged foot, Nyel walked to the rectangular shape. It was soft and…jumpy? He didn’t know how to explain it, but there was a definite bounce as he lay on the mattress’s surface. It did smell like smoke. Smoke and… something else. Like the storm raging outside, only softer. It carried a gentle hint of melancholy. Nyel pressed his face into the springy surface, letting this strange scent lull him into a pleasant calm as exhaustion crept in. The maelstrom of emotions Nyel had endured left him utterly drained. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so tired.

The last thought that drifted behind his closing lids was of abalone shells glistening in firelight.

Atreus was thirteen. His father left exactly sixty-seven days ago. Summer was in full swing, and the seafloor was full of crustaceans that kept his stomach full. He wouldn’t taste the bitter tang of starvation for months to come, but he was already starved for something else. For company. For someone to talk to.

Atreus swam back and forth on the outskirts of the village, too nervous to go any closer and too lonely to go back to his tower. For the past two weeks, he’d been hiding behind stones near the villagers’ homes, picking up bits and pieces of their conversations. To hear the voices of other living creatures. The inflection of a laugh or the hum of a mother’s lullaby. Soon, it wasn’t enough. And now he swam circles on the outskirts of a family sand-hut home, reciting his opening lines.

“Hi, I’m Atreus, and I live on the island…” Too informal.

“Hello. I’m Atreus…” That made him about as interesting as a sea slug.