What From the Water Rises #22

In which Joolaan tries to focus.

For Joolaan, working on a device from morning until dusk constituted an ideal day. This small, lucky luxury was not afforded to them often, but they woke up each morning hoping for it nonetheless.

On this particular morning, they woke up thinking of birds and how they might use magic to give humans the ability to fly.

A corner of their mind was always occupied with designing something new. Even before they became an artificer, this was the case. As they dressed and warmed their breakfast, the idea that had whirled into life the moment they gained consciousness fought to take over more than that small corner. But with firm, practiced ease, they placed it aside—not to dismiss it entirely, but to let it simmer out of the way. They were already working on a more practical design; hopefully, they could dedicate their day to it and leave the evening free to ponder more fanciful possibilities.

Joolaan pulled two soft tubers from the coals of their stove, tucked some fruit and nuts into their pants pocket, and set off at a brisk pace through the streets of Zuenos in the yellow bronze of dawn.

When they arrived at the artificers’ guild, the workspace was empty and silent. By the time their colleagues began to trickle in, they’d gotten a kettle of water steaming in the corner, their pockets were empty, and they already had a partially finished parchment diagram unrolled on their worktable. They lifted a hand when greeted, but otherwise, their attention remained on the arcane puzzle before them.

The first real interruption came once the sun was up. Though expected, it was only relatively welcome: their neniel showed up.

Lahlo stopped by the guild to say hello to them most days. Whether they stayed for more than a few minutes to lovingly pester Joolaan and their fellow artificers depended entirely on Lahlo’s unknowable, ephemeral schedule. 

“Good morning,” they called as they strode inside, strumming the lyre they took with them everywhere these days. Reflexively, everyone looked up from their work; replies of “good morning” overlapped with a chorus of whispery scrapes as artificers shoved boxes of components under tables and out of Lahlo’s path. They circled the guild floor, chatting loudly and peppering people with questions, before they came to lean against Joolaan’s worktable.

“Neniel,” Joolaan said by way of greeting, eyes still on their blueprint.

“Entiel,” Lahlo replied sweetly, plucking one ringing chord on their lyre.

“How’s your father?”

Joolaan did not have to look at them to see their mood shift at this question; they could hear the slight coldness that invaded their reply. This had often been present whenever they spoke of Leontas lately. Less intense today than it had been, perhaps, but certainly still there.

“He’s working a job in the city. Repairing some houses, I think.” It did not escape Joolaan’s notice that they didn’t quite answer the question.

“Hmm.” Joolaan tapped the end of their grease pencil against the parchment. “Better than dragging trees down the mountain,” they said mildly. “Less dangerous.” In their periphery, they saw Lahlo frown.

Joolaan could ask Lahlo what was wrong—what was going on between them and their father, what had upset them so. But they already had, once, and Lahlo said they didn’t want to talk about it. It was much easier, in their experience, to get Lahlo to speak up by leaving them plenty of room to do so than pressing them on it.

Lahlo crossed their arms and gave a belated answer to Joolaan’s question. “Something’s bothering him. But he won’t tell me what.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“If I did something wrong,” they began defensively, “it’s not fair for him to keep it—”

“I’m not saying you did anything at all, little fish,” they reassured. “I very much doubt you did. But he might be taking cues from you right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not speaking with him much nowadays, are you?”

Lahlo’s brow furrowed. “I talk to him plenty. Almost as much as usual.”

“But have you told him why you’re upset with him yet?” they asked patiently.

“He knows what he did, Joolaan! He knows! And the longer he pretends like he doesn’t—” Anger cut their words short, their mouth pressing shut; moisture shone across the clouded brown of their eyes.

Joolaan sighed and sat back from their table. They had never wanted to be a parent—didn’t feel remotely equipped for it. But then Leontas and Lahlo had stumbled into their life, and they’d often found themself acting as one, anyway.

“Lahlo.” They took their neniel’s hands and gave them a soft squeeze. Lahlo stared intently over Joolaan’s shoulder, gaze as attentive on their entiel as it could be. “I know you’re disappointed in your father. I trust you when you say he’s done something wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time he made a mistake, and it won’t be the last. But, little fish, even if he knows what he’s done—and I don’t think he does, as frustrating as that might be to hear—he can’t make things right unless you talk to him about it.”

With a subdued groan, Lahlo pressed their forehead into Joolaan’s shoulder. “I don’t want to talk to him about it. I want him to know; he should know. I don’t understand how he doesn’t.”

“And you won’t until you give him a chance to explain himself.”

Lahlo huffed a warm breath against Joolaan’s shirt. They grumbled, “This is so stupid.” Then, in a softer voice: “Do you know what’s bothering him?”

“I don’t. Shall I find out?”

Lahlo nodded. They squeezed Joolaan’s hand; Joolaan rubbed their other one across their back and rested their chin in Lahlo’s mop of curls. For a long moment, they were both quiet. 

“He lied to me,” Lahlo murmured at last. “I asked him not to do something, and he said he wouldn’t, but then he did. Right then, right in front of me. Like I wouldn’t notice. Like he thought I was stupid.”

Leontas loved Lahlo more than anything in the world; he certainly didn’t think they were stupid. But Leontas himself could be remarkably so. “I’m sorry, Lahlo.”

“I know he’s kept things from me before. But he never lied to me. Not like that.” They pulled away, shook their head, sniffed a little. “Can I sit with you for a while?”

“Of course.” 

Joolaan found them a chair and cleaned off a corner of their worktable. From a drawer, they dug out a square of spare parchment and an extra grease pencil and laid them in front of Lahlo, who handed over their lyre to be placed safely out of the way. Once they settled in, Joolaan pulled their own chair up to the table and bent over their blueprint. At this point, their mind was thoroughly distracted by wondering about Leontas. Their brother—of the heart, not the blood—was far from a perfect man. Lately, his shortcomings had been on greater display than usual.

“He’s lied to me before, too,” Joolaan said after a moment.

Lahlo looked up from their parchment. “Really?”

Joolaan nodded.

“But… he loves us.”

“Sometimes that’s all the more reason to hide the truth.”

By the time Lahlo next spoke, at least an hour had passed. Joolaan had just found their focus again, dragging sure lines across parchment with their pencil.

“What are you working on?” Lahlo had abandoned their own parchment, which was cramped with large, careful Sehmeri characters.

“Something for Councilor Razilos.”

Lahlo made a face.

“I know.” Trying not to sound too dismissive, they added, “I need to focus now, Lahlo.”

“Think you’ll be working on it late?” 

Joolaan did not notice how delicately they asked this question. “If more inquiring children show up, maybe.”

In the back corner of their mind, Joolaan was considering the problem of propulsion and the specialized knowledge of the windworker. They were beginning to doubt that they would be able to bring these thoughts to the forefront anytime that day.

* * *

Lahlo left the artificers’ guild around midday, and many of Joolaan’s colleagues followed shortly in their stead. Only a few, themself included, stayed behind to eat in the tiny kitchen in the corner or nap at their worktables. Joolaan had finally found their rhythm and decided to push through the break, taking advantage of the relative quiet. Footfalls up the steps outside didn’t register to them, nor did the creak of the door opening; at least a minute or two passed before they felt the presence of someone standing behind them.

They turned. A steaming bundle of leaves thrust right into their face confronted them. The buttery fragrance of fish rose from it, mixed with earthy tubers and the bright tang of berries.

Leontas towered over them, another steaming pouch in his other hand. He grinned and said, “I brought lunch. Can I interrupt you?”

Joolaan sat back, pushing the hair out of their eyes. It was a sandy color, just like their brother’s, but duller and more brown; that small commonality was where their resemblance ended. Joolaan was small framed, with a long oval face and downturned, almost sleepy eyes. They weren’t interested in strength, or sword fights, or challenging anyone. In their line of work, the real challenge was not to challenge. Push the bounds of what the gods would allow, and one risked death or worse. Most of the ideas they toyed with would only ever be ideas, kept relatively safe in the confines of their mind. Far safer here, especially, than they would have been in Mesaanot.

“I think you have, by definition, interrupted me,” they said sardonically.

“Then it wouldn’t be much more trouble for you to eat with me.”

“I suppose I can spare a few minutes.” Leontas rarely visited them at the guild, and when he did, it was often to discuss something important.

But this was the second time he had come in the past few days, and as they ate in the shade of the front porch, his talk was as inconsequential as it had been the last time—observations on the only mostly-sane old man who supervised the Zuenos upkeep crews, an amusing anecdote about an argument he’d had with Nematra. When he changed the subject mere moments after he began to detail his latest duel, Joolaan knew for a fact that Lahlo had been right.

They picked the last silky bits of tuber from between the creases of their leaf pouch and said, “So, what’s going on, Leontas?”

Leontas laughed. “Head still at your worktable? I’ve just been telling you.”

“Don’t deflect.”

A raised eyebrow, a crooked mouth. “Am I deflecting?”

Unperturbed, Joolaan explained, “Not once in all the years I’ve known you have you ever passed up an opportunity to tell me about some sword fight, and the last time you brought me lunch this often was probably when Lahlo started losing their vision.”

That ever-present humor still remained on Leontas’s face, but Joolaan heard the defensive note that crept into his voice. “So, what, I can’t come and have a conversation with you just because I want to?”

Joolaan shrugged. “Of course, you can; my point is that, historically, you haven’t. What’s bothering you?”

“I really did—I really do—just want to talk.”

“Then let’s talk.”

Now that Joolaan made it clear they would not bend, Leontas’s smile faded, and he averted his eyes to the street. For a few moments, his brow crooked with thought, the smile fading from his face. Joolaan settled back against the guild’s wall to listen. “You know that new swordsman I was telling you about?” he asked slowly. “The one I beat a few months ago?”

Oh—so that’s what this is about. When Leontas had first spoken of this swordsman, Joolaan could tell immediately that he was smitten. They never learned much more than that, not even the man’s name—for all his friendly openness, Leontas was remarkably private—but they’d assumed he was pursuing him. Their brother went after what he wanted without hesitation. 

“Was he not… interested?” Joolaan asked. Usually, that wouldn’t be enough to affect Leontas much. This swordsman must be something.

Leontas’s jaw tightened. “He is interested. I’m sure of it.”

“Ah.” The problem was immediately obvious. “He’s Sehmeri, isn’t he?” That would track since he was a swordsman.

But Leontas shook his head. “He is, but I don’t think it’s that. After the last duel… Gods, it was a mess! I’ll tell you about it when I stop being angry. Needless to say, I won’t be taking anonymous jobs anymore. I’m trying to track down whoever hired me, thinking about issuing a challenge of my own—anyway.” He shook his head again. “After the duel, when I—when I let him know I was interested—I asked him why he left Sehmera, and he said his preference wasn’t the reason.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s comfortable with it, though.”

“I know. I know. I probably just need to give him time. But I thought…” He pressed a fist into his forehead. “I got so close, Joolaan. He let me—we almost—gods!” 

Joolaan’s eyebrows lifted as they watched him struggle to continue. They hadn’t seen him so hung up on someone in at least a decade, easily. Maybe ever. “Would it help if you told me about him?”

“I don’t know.” He paused, dropping his hand to his lap. “He’s an excellent sword. The way he moves, even unarmed—there’s something about it that just… and the tongue on him, and his eyes! He was part of the aristocracy, but—”

Joolaan sat fully up. “Wait—this man is a noble? You hate the nobility.”

Leontas made a noise that was half disbelieving laugh, half high-pitched sigh. “I know! But I think he hates them, too; he only ever talks of them with disdain, and he’s emphasized from the moment I met him that he’s an ex-noble. I think he may have fled for political reasons. And maybe I do hate him, but I also…” Leontas trailed off, staring into the middle distance again, and Joolaan almost had to turn away from the naked hunger on his face. They hadn’t seen him look like that in a very long time.

Leontas turned back to them, but when he saw their expression, his gaze dropped to the planks of the porch. “I don’t think I want to talk about him, actually. I can’t get him out of my head; it’s driving me crazy. Until I told him how I felt, we had been sparring most evenings— I didn’t really believe him, afterward, when he told me he wouldn’t come back. Now I just keep waiting in the dark for him to appear…” He sighed and lifted his eyes to Joolaan. “Between him and Lahlo, I just needed a distraction. To talk with someone who’s not angry with me for reasons I can’t figure out. You’re not angry with me, are you?”

“No.” Not exactly true, but what anger they felt was for their neniel, not their own. “Lahlo did tell me why they’re upset, by the way.”

“Really? What did they say?”

“You lied to them—made them feel stupid. That’s all they said. I told them they needed to talk to you. Give them a little more time and I think they will.”

Leontas shoved the remains of his lunch aside and lay down on the porch. “I can’t stand waiting,” he said to the sky.

“I know.”

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon—after Leontas left, if reluctantly, so they could both get back to work—Joolaan was only interrupted once. Sometime before sundown, a timid, tired-looking young person came in and inquired about how they might join the guild. Joolaan detailed the process to them; when told that they would need to provide a sample of their artificing work, the youth had clutched their heavy bag close, looking stricken, and said they would come back some other time. They left without giving their name. 

Joolaan might have wondered about it if they weren’t running out of daylight. Instead, they turned back to the notes they were writing up for Razilos. 

The guild hall dimmed. People twisted runelights on. The sunset left the sky a deep and darkening blue. Finally—alone in the cooling evening, after the last of their colleagues had trickled out—Joolaan put down their pencil and sat back. That small corner of their mind had waited patiently for them. 

They let their head fall forward—their hair a curtain over their face—and gently, deliberately, they unlocked it. Wing shapes, wood samples, sail cloths, lacquers, and a host of runes accordioned out behind their eyes. They sighed and started thinking.

The door opened.

Lahlo stood there in the near dark. 

“Lahlo,” Joolaan said, pushing themself upright. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

Their neniel stepped halfway through the door. “Tasi is late for dinner again.”

“Oh.” Probably waiting somewhere for his swordsman. “Again? Has this been happening a lot?”

“Every day,” Lahlo said, “for a while.” They sounded mild enough, but Joolaan wondered if they heard a touch of hurt. Suddenly, they wanted to throttle the man they called their brother.

“I’m sorry, little fish,” they sighed. “I’ll have a talk with him about it. He’s alright, you know; I have an idea where he is. He came by at lunchtime. I found out what’s been upsetting him.”

“You did?”

“He’s been spending time with a friend lately. Someone he has feelings for. But things aren’t working out the way he hoped.”

Lahlo gave a slow nod. “That’s hard,” they said quietly. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I don’t know. You should ask him. My guess is that he thought he was protecting you from something. Or maybe he didn’t think you’d want to hear it while you were still upset with him.”

Directing the merest ghost of a smile toward their entiel, they said, “I feel a little better now.”

Joolaan returned their smile in full. They might not be cut out to be a parent, but they did their best to take care of the family they had. “Good.”

Acknowledging—but not dwelling on—the disappointment they felt at doing so, they pushed their thoughts on how to create a flight device back to the designated corner, locked it gently away, and started to clear their worktable. “I bet you’re hungry, right? Should I take you home and fix something for us?”

“No. I’ll eat when Tasi comes home.”

Joolaan’s hands stilled on their papers; they turned to Lahlo with their head cocked. “Then why—?” The furrow in their brow deepened as they realized something more. “And how did you get here in the dark?”

This time, Lahlo grinned unreservedly. “My friend helped me.”

Joolaan’s eyes widened. They’d seen Lahlo just that morning—and yesterday, and the day before that. Nearly every day for weeks. To make a friend was Lahlo’s dearest wish; how was this the first that they’d heard of it?

“He’s the reason why I came. I want you to meet him—formally, this time.”

Lahlo pushed the door the rest of the way open, and standing there on the porch was the child who’d tried to steal a breathing mask from them all those months ago. His hands were clamped around a scroll of parchment much too large for them to believe he had traded for it. He found Joolaan’s eyes, gave a quick, wary nod, and looked away.

“He’s not done with the mask yet,” Lahlo explained, businesslike as if they’d put a lot of thought into what they’d say. “He won’t be for a while. But he wanted to tell you what he’s using it for and to ask you for another favor. You’d be doing me a favor, too.”

“Well…” Joolaan blinked at the two of them. Not a single part of their day had gone the way they’d thought. “What is it?”

Lahlo leaned over to take counsel with their friend. Joolaan heard them say softly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to ask?”

The boy nodded. He took a few awkward steps toward Joolaan, fumbled a smaller scroll of parchment from around the larger one, and unrolled it for Joolaan to see.

In large, somewhat crude characters, it said: Please teach me magic.