Black Sun (Between Earth and Sky, #1)(33)

Even with the cloth on, he could still see some. A little in the normal way if the light was bright against his eyelids, but he also had his other senses, touch and taste and smell, that his tutors had honed to impressive performance. It was not magic, but countless hours of practice. Practice told him where a person was standing from the movement of the air around them. Practice taught him to listen to a person’s breathing and whether it was steady with calm or short and panicked with lies. Practice had taught him the myriad smells of bodies and rain and heat and what they said about a person and the weather and the time of day.

And of course, he had his birds that let him borrow their eyes when he took the star pollen.

And he had something else. The crow god.

But none of it replaced what he ached for most.

The company of people.

Their laughter, the easy camaraderie. No one was easy around him, although he wished them to be, and beyond his tutors, he had never had anything that resembled friends except his crows. So he bound the cloth around his head for the sake of others. Before he left the room, he pulled his cowl up over his head, too, an extra precaution.

He moved silently, the low creak of the canoe on gentle waves the only sound. He marveled that people could build such a ship and have it withstand the power of the sea. It seemed only wood and resin and wild faith to him, but he was a man who knew wild faith, so perhaps it was not so strange after all.

It took him some time to locate the plank the crew had left for crossing to shore, but once he found it through touch and remembering where it had been when he boarded, he crossed easily enough.

The sand under his feet was packed and solid. He pushed his way up a small rise toward the voices, listening to what his new environment could teach him. First there was the lap of water against land, a different sound from both the roar of waves in the harbor and the staccato slapping of smaller waves against the canoe. Then the voices of the crew all made distinct by variation in accent and tone. He could determine personality, mood, sometimes origin, although he wished he had heard more foreigners speak during his time in Obregi to better place them on his map.

The voices were low, both in register and in location. Some lively but most dulled with fatigue and drink. They seemed to be at the bottom of a hill or closer to the ground. He imagined the crew spread out along the ground at the dip of the hill somewhat below him. A breeze danced through the night sky, carrying the scent of spices and oils and what he had recently learned was fish. There was also a slightly sour undertone that he guessed emanated from the drink the men consumed. Shadows danced on the corner of his vision, suggesting that there must be a low fire nearby, the smell of smoke confirming it.

Another voice joined the talk, a feminine one. Authoritative, and used to directing men. That must be the captain. Her voice came back to him on the breeze, as if she was standing with her back turned to him. And there was the first mate he knew was named Callo, his distinctive cadence easy to recognize.

He listened for a while longer, enjoying the scene before him, until silence fell, and he knew they had seen him.

“Beex gala’ee,” he greeted them, employing his limited Cuecolan. He smiled in an attempt to reassure them of his benevolent motives, but that only made the shadowed figure nearest flinch. Ah, his teeth. He had forgotten. He closed his mouth.

“It’s the Obregi,” someone murmured, and the word circulated through the crew on tongues both curious and wary.

“My lord,” a female voice said, not scared but definitely cautious. “We are honored to receive you.” It was the shadowy shape that had flinched, the captain. Serapio inhaled, taking in her scent. It was white salt warmed on dark skin. Azure water, deep and endless. Power, bright and furious.

Magic.

He breathed her in, half-giddy. Who was she? What was she?

The figure next to her moved. Tossed something toward Serapio. Instinct had him calling shadow to his fingers before he realized whatever it was had fallen to the sandy shore well short of him. He released his power immediately, but the feeling of it lingered around him, a dark vibration in the air.

A small gasp of irritation from the woman. “Callo!” Her voice was sharp with reprimand. “Don’t be an idiot. Get our guest something to eat,” she said, emphasis plain, a reminder to the first mate to keep his manners.

Callo. Serapio memorized his scent, too. Salt, yes, but wet and clotted, more like human sweat than the clear summery smell of the captain. And there was the sour drink, even more than what he caught from the captain. And… something acrid. Confusion, perhaps. Something that smelled of deceit and indecision, conflict and fear. Callo was to be watched.

He heard hesitation, then dragging steps as Callo moved back toward the fire.

Serapio realized he was indeed hungry. He had gone without food before, for days sometimes when his father had forgotten him or when his tutors thought hunger would teach him a necessary lesson, so he was used to the empty feeling, the knot in his belly. But he was pleased when Callo came back. The man paused a few paces away and proffered the bowl in his outstretched hands, as if he feared getting too close.

“Oh, mother waters,” the woman cursed, grabbing the bowl from the man and closing the distance between them. “Here.” She thrust the food at him. He took it. “And with my apologies. But…” She sighed, sounded burdened and embarrassed. “Best you eat on the ship, eh? You’ve got the crew spooked, and they’re superstitious enough without someone like you showing up in the moonlight like a specter.” She pulled gently at his arm. She wanted him to follow her.