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Wednesday Briefs: The Stormlords part 27

The ocean was huge. 
The water lapped at Rowen’s toes, pricks of cold that multiplied and rushed up his legs as the water burbled up the sandy beach. The sand reminded him of his village after a windstorm, where sand from the south would blow up into the village and nearly bury the brush. The women would always complain as they swept it from the streets. 
The only thing that swept this sand was the sea, ebbing and flowing. It reflected the morning sun, a riot of color and an alternation of cold and warmth. It reminded him of Kristoff. 
Kristoff, who today would discover what the villagers believed he had done. 
“Happy there?” Volkes moved next to him, Rowen’s face heating again as he put his mentor and his fears out of his mind. He moved his gaze over the northerner’s body. He wore no shirt now, only a pair of shorts, and the sight brought back vivid memories of the night before. Volkes’ lips, his mouth, his powerful arms as he had pushed Rowen down on the bed… Rowen shivered. He wasn't sure he had liked being pushed down like that, but what Volkes had done after that had more than made up for it. Rowen rememembered how he had shuddered, then shuddered again, his body succumbing to a level of pleasure he had never been able to bring himself. 
It was confusing, though. Once it was over, Volkes had sent him back to his room. Rowen had no idea if it would happen again, or even if Volkes had liked it…although the taste of the other man’s seed on his tongue suggested he had. 
At least he was with Rowen now. That was probably a good sign. 
“C’mon Rowen.” Volkes pulled him by the arm, interrupting his thoughts before they could make him desire Volkes all over again. “Do you know how to swim?” 
Rowen shook his head, his eyes widening at the thought of immersing himself in such a large body of water. It made the stream he had bathed in with Kristoff look like nothing, and the waves made it worse. 
No one in his village swam. No one would waste water that way. 
“I’ll show you.” Volkes began walking into the water, dragging him by the arm. The water swirled in blue and white foam around his ankles, and Rowen dug his heels into the shifting sand, his heart suddenly pounding. The stream with Kristoff had not had waves that tried to tug him further in with every swell. 
“C’mon.” Volkes tugged harder, nearly making Rowen stumble. “It’s safe, trust me.” 
Rowen shook his head, taking a step back. Volkes’ eyes narrowed. 
“C’mon, are you frightened? Didn’t you at least bathe in that desert of yours?” He snorted. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. You’re going to be a Stormlord. You can’t be scared of ocean water.” 
Rowen shook his head again, eyes wide. He couldn’t swim. He didn’t want to risk being dragged away. 
Volkes rolled his eyes. “Look.” He ran out further and dove, submerging himself completely in the water.  Rowen’s skin crawled at the cold as another wave rushed past his ankles, and he took another step back, heart racing. Where was Volkes? 
A few moments later the blond surfaced with a splash, his head small among the bobbing waves. “See?” he shouted. “It’s nothing to worry about.” 
Rowen stayed still. The wet sand was cold beneath his feet, and he couldn’t muster the will to walk any further toward the water.  
“Damn, if you’re scared of a little water, I can’t imagine you ever learning to fly,” Volkes said, swimming closer and then sending small gysers of ocean water around his knees as he stamped toward Rowen. “You’re really going to just stand here the whole time?” 
Rowen paused, then nodded. 
“Suit yourself. I’m going to swim out to Angel Island. See?” he pointed to a dash of green in the distance. “I’ll see you back at the house tonight. If you decide to man up, you can meet me out there.” The words stung, and Rowen frowned. Volkes just smirked. “If you make it out there, I’ll make it worth your while.” He leaned down and tilted Rowen’s chin up with a forceful hand, then shoved his tongue in Rowen’s mouth. Heat mingled with shock flashed through Rowen, and he gasped when Volkes let him go. 
“See you,” Volkes said. He ran out, cold water splashing Rowen’s skin, and then dove into the waves. Within moments he was nothing more than an addition to the white foam of the waves, and then a small shape out on the ocean. 
For a moment, Rowen considered joining him, the taste of Volkes’ lips fresh on his tongue. But logic stopped him. 
He still couldn’t swim. Volkes hadn’t even tried to teach him. And Kristoff wasn’t here. 
He was alone again. The realization bit harder than he had thought it would. 
He watched the waves rise and swell, and finally left the beach. The sand had heated in the morning sun, and he stepped carefully, smiling when he saw a younger boy darting over the sand, dashing into the water to avoid burning his feet. It was hot, but it did not compare to the searing sands of his village in summer. 
He walked without purpose for a time, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the island without the pressing need to be anywhere. In the back of his mind, he wanted to enjoy it while he could. If Kristoff believed the villagers, and thought he was a murderer…
No. Rowen shoved down the lead ball of fear. He had to focus on other things.

Wednesday Briefs: The StormLords part 26

Kristoff sat on a mat weaved from the scrub plants that grew outside the village, sipping the water Alain gave him. The elder sat across from him, silent.
The inside of the hut was sparse, the mat he sat on and a writing desk carved from stone in the corner the only furnishings. A hanging of what looked like longer versions of the scrub plants blocked the entrance to another room.
27 dead. In one heat spell.
The stormlords rarely ventured far into the southwestern regions, as they were perilously close to the areas of the world that were already uninhabitable, ruined by the constant heat spells that no one, not even a group of Storm Lords, could break. But he always performed his duties as soon as they were assigned, which was supposed to be when the heat spells were first sensed. A heat spell that killed 27 people…
“How long did it last?” Kristoff asked. Alain looked up. “The last heat spell.”
“It only broke about a week ago,” the man said, gaze distant. “It lasted nearly three weeks.”
Kristoff set his water cup down, his stomach spasming. Three weeks. This village, and Rowen, had suffered for three weeks. Alain watched him, his gaze unreadable. He had to make it up to them. He had to make it up to Rowen.
“Alain?” The elder met his eyes once more, tilting his head at Kristoff’s tone. “Can you tell me more about the heat spells here? What are they like?” He needed to know.
Alain sighed, the creases in the skin of his eyes and face suddenly more prominent. “We had another traveler come here, about a year ago, a northerner. He has said that the spells here are the worst he’s seen. I lost my wife to one, two years ago. She was the village elder, then.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s just the way of the world. It gets hotter each year, the heat spells get worse. This village is dying. There is nothing we can do, is there?” He turned hopeful eyes to Kristoff, and anxiety thrummed through him the Storm Lord.
“Was it always like this?”
Alain’s gaze grew distant. “No. We had grass here when I was young.” A small smile formed on his face. “We used to supply travelers with pit seeds for their journeys.” Kristoff perked up. “They would come through here on their way south. But soon they stopped coming. Travelers came back, and they said that nothing was there. There were mines, long ago, but the heat overtook them. Now it’s taking us, and we’re running out of pit seeds.” He shook his head ruefully. “The storms aren’t enough.” His green eyes met Kristoff’s.
The storm lord swallowed. “I…what are pit seeds?”
“I’ll show you.” Alain stood, motioning for Kristoff to stay where he was. He moved over to his desk, a drawer scraping as he pulled it open, and came back with three small seeds.
Rowen really was a good artist. They looked exactly the same.
“These were the reason our village was prosperous, once,” Alain said. “The brush that grows from our village. We thought we were blessed, once. We prayed to the Goddess of the brush.” Kristoff kept his face neutral. For all the religions he had heard of, praying to a deity of something that clearly supported these people was one of the better ones. “When you eat these,” Alain continued. “It makes you feel hotter, but they keep you alive.”
It clicked in Kristoff’s mind. Rowen had taken these to stay alive. “What…is there a drawback?”
“None, unless you take too many.” Alain closed his fist, the seeds dissapearing. “You lose the power of speech. I have only seen it twice.”
Kristoff’s heart sped up. This was it. This man knew what happened to Rowen. “Tell me about them.”
 “The first was a traveler, back when I was a child. He took a satchel of seeds with him on his way south. When he returned, he could not speak.” Alain fell silent, staring at Kristoff.
“And the second?”
Alain’s mouth turned up, but it wasn’t a smile. “The second was a young man. I am not sure what happened, but it was during a heat spell a year ago. His parents died. Some in the village say he stole their water, but no matter what happened, he took too many. He never spoke again.”
Kristoff swallowed hard. “What happened to him?”
Alain did smile this time. “How about you tell me, Storm God? Are you here because we sacrificed him?”
Kristoff’s heart thudded hard in his chest, his mouth suddenly devoid of moisture. Storm God. That was what notherners called them, and superstitious people from the more advanced countries of Linland and Pearlen.
Stories and rumors traveled far. And Kristoff had no idea what to do. Talia had never instructed him on anything like this. Did he go along with it?
Not to mention what he had said. Sacrifice. That explained the state Rowen had been in. Not a murderer, or a thief. Kristoff did not believe for a second Rowen had stolen his parents water.
These people had sacrificed him, a young man, to bring a storm. If Rowen had not been a storm lord himself, he would have died for nothing.
Kristoff knew what he had to do.
“Yes. I have come to give you a warning.” Kristoff stood from the mat, Alain bowing his head. The elder didn’t tremble or quail, making no sound, and some of Kristoff’s anger ebbed. This man knew that what he had done was wrong.
But the warning still needed to be given.
“If you ever sacrifice anyone again, there will be no more storms. And without us, the goddess of the brush will abandon you.”
Alain didn’t move. Kristoff left the house, heading immediately to the edge of town. Forget the pit seeds. These people needed them more.
He wanted to get out of here. Back to Rowen.

Wednesday Briefs: The Stormlords part 25

The sun had barely begun to turn the sky purple when Kristoff summoned a small storm to take him up over the ocean.
Storm Lords were no stranger to walking around in foreign places. But usually they visited large cities, where a strange face wasn’t unusual. Rowen’s village was tiny, one of those rare places where it was most likely everyone knew everyone else. A newcomer would stand out, especially one who arrived with no rations or bags from a long journey. Kristoff wished once again that Rowen’s village wasn’t smack in the middle of what seemed like uninhabitable desert.
The storm took him into the air, a small thundersquall that strengthened as he flew over the ocean. Tendrils of air supported him as he flew for miles, stopping once at the small island where he had taken Rowen to relax and refresh himself before he continued on.
The storm weakened underneath him as he moved over the desert, the dry air and parched ground sucking the moisture from his power. He kept moving, summoning what little humidity was left in the air, before he saw the thatched houses that marked the village. The place he’d found Rowen.
He landed immediately, sending the storm rushing ahead of him. There was not much moisture left, but what little there was would surely be appreciated by the townsfolk.
Taking a deep breath of hot, dry air, Kristoff walked on.
Warmth seeped through the soles of Kristoff’s flimsy sandals from the sand and clay underneath. He knew that farther south, the land would be humped in dunes of sand, but here the grains merely collected on top rust colored earth. His steps made a soft crunching noise, as though he walked on cold snow. Small plumes of dust billowed from his feet when he walked past an area where the sand was deeper, and he left flat-soled footprints.
A lizard, tail wriggling, scurried past him and then dissapeared into a hole in the ground. The heat of the day grew as the sun mounted the sky.
Small bushes sprouted from the ground the closer he got to the village. They were small, stunted things, and Kristoff didn’t recognize them. Instead of leaves, they had spines, and around most of them the ground was scuffed.
Not scuffed. A footprint was embedded in the sand near the scrub, and he saw more as he walked. They led toward the village, but he saw no sign of whoever had left them.
The day had moved on toward noon by the time he arrived, forehead beaded with sweat. The storm he had sent had passed over the town, the stratus clouds thinned into nothing as the sun beat through them. There was no unnatural heat that marked a heat spell here, but it was certainly hotter than Kristoff was used to.
He paused. The footprints were more obvious here, many of them gathered around mounds of fresh dirt. Sticks were hammered into the ground next to them.
Kristoff’s eyes widened. Graves. Dozens of them, coming all at once into his conciousness as he kept looking. His throat tightened.
He hurried into the village, the scrub brush vanishing in the face of tiny red clay houses with thatched roofs. They stretched into the distance, no rhyme or reason to their placement, although a few were built so close that their roofs touched, forming a shady passage between them. No more dust skirled under his feet as he walked, the ground baked into fired clay and swept clean. In the distance, a man walked between two houses, a bucket on his shoulder.
Each house had a strange gutter on the edge of the roof, which drained into a bucket. They were clearly desperate for water here, and he wished his small storm had brought some. The thatched roofs of each hut spread far beyond the edge of the house, providing an overhang and a promise of shade.
For a moment, Kristoff stood in the village, staring at the small houses and feeling the heat of the day. This was where Rowen was from. This had been his student’s home. He wished he knew which house Rowen had lived in.
“Hello.” His heart leapt, and he turned toward the source of the voice. A large older man with graying hair walked toward him, carrying a water flask. Despite his age, his eyes were clear and green, the same color as Rowen’s. “Where have you come from?” The man stopped close, peering into Kristoff’s eyes. “How far have you come? Do you need water?”
“I….No.” Kristoff stepped back, the man’s brow furrowing. Kristoff bit the inside of his lip, struggling to remember his story. “My supplies ran out just outside town, but I am well. I am…looking for someone.”
“I am Alain, the elder of this village. Who are you looking for?”
Kristoff’s mind reeled. The elder, already? The other man he had seen had vanished, and the doors to the houses were closed. “Where is everyone?”
“It is the heat of the day.” Alain’s mouth turned up. “Why would anyone be outside?”
“I…” Kristoff swallowed. He needed his information. Then he could go. “Could I speak with the village doctor?”
Alain frowned, his eyes leaving Kristoff’s face. “I am sorry. She died recently, in the last heat spell.”
Kristoff’s blood turned to ice in his veins despite the heat. The graves outside the village. There had been dozens of them. Fresh ones.
The heat spell. “How many?” he whispered.
“27,” Alain answered. “The heat spells this year have been very harsh.”
27 dead. Kristoff’s stomach turned, his words to Rayen coming back to his mind. Preventing them from getting to the point where they killed anyone? No wonder he had looked angry. Kristoff was surprised Rowen hadn’t laughed in his face.
He had failed. He had failed Rowen and he had failed this village.
“Are you alright?” Alain leaned closer. “C’mon inside, out of the sun.”

Wednesday Briefs: The Stormlords part 24

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Part 24


Rowen followed Volkes, the blond not speaking as they walked. Rowen shivered, a cool breeze bringing with it the still strange scents of deep forest and the salty edge of what Rowen knew must be the ocean.
“Enjoying yourself?” Volkes dug into his pocket for his key. “Not used to it all yet?”
Rowen gave a sheepish smile and shook his head as they walked up to the front door.
“It took me a while too when I first came here. I was ten.” Rowen hadn’t expected that. “In the north, where I’m from, we didn’t have this much forest and greenery. Certainly not the varieties you’re seeing here.” He lit the torches inside, not bothering with the sitting room. “It was mostly snow and cold. Heat spells were different--when the snow started melting, we knew the storm would come.”
Rowen raised his eyebrows, hoping Volkes would keep talking. He wanted to know what snow was.
Instead Volkes headed up the stairs, keeping the lamp lighter in his hand. “C’mon, Rowen.” His blond hair gleamed in the dim light. “Come up to my room. I want to give you something to help you celebrate.” He grinned. “Ever had Darsean beer?”
Rowen paused on the first step. He was beginning to realize what kind of celebration Volkes had in mind. The blond waved the lamp lighter, the small flame on the end dancing. “C’mon, Rowen.”
            Skin prickling with unease and no small amount of anticipation, Rowen headed up the stairs and into Volke’s room, waiting in the doorway while Volkes lit one sconce in the corner. Clothes and books lay strewn on the floor, Rowen stepping carefully. Volkes had more things on his floor than Rowen had ever owned in his life.
Volkes opened his dresser drawer and pulled out two glass bottles. The light from the sconce shone through the clear liquid. “I got this from the Darsean traders. Best stuff there is.” No one had ever mentioned Darseans to him, and Rowen tilted his head.
“The traders.” Volkes shook his head with a snort. “How do you think our island gets supplies? The Darseans are seagoers. Live and die on ships. Apparently heat spells destroyed their home country way back. Undispellable ones.” He waved a hand. “They ship food and supplies to the island from around the world.” Rowen nodded. Suddenly the plethora of foods in the mess hall made sense.  “You can ask Sharon more about them. She’s Darsean.”
Rowen gave a weak smile, and Volkes tossed him the glass bottle.
“Well? You know what it is now. Try it.” Volkes grinned, popping his bottle open with his thumb.
Rowen followed suit, the strange wooden top falling onto the floor. He almost moved to pick it up, but Volkes waved a hand. “Forget it. Just try it.”
His tongue curled at the taste, and he tilted his head back, letting the fiery liquid fall down his throat. It burned, and he swallowed fast, coughing a few times. The aftertaste was smooth and cloying, with a root-like flavor Rowen couldn’t place.
            Volkes whistled. “You didn’t gag or anything. Impressive.” Volkes tilted his head back and downed a portion of his own bottle, then stood up and set it down on the dresser. Rowen’s skin buzzed as Volkes came so close Rowen could smell the beer on his breath.
            “So, Rowen. You want to celebrate or what?”
It suddenly occurred to him what Volkes meant, his words about men who liked men flashing through his mind.
A chill breeze blew through the window, but it wasn’t the cold that sent goosebumps down Rowen’s neck. He had never been with any man, with anyone at all.
Kristoff came to his mind then, and with him the anxieties of the coming few days. No. He didn't want to think about the past, not now.
“Rowen? Do you want to celebrate with me or not?” Volkes asked again, his tone more demanding this time. He reached out and took Rowen’s wrist, his grip firm. “Yes or no?”
He looked so much like Lucas, and yet not. Rowen’s mouth went dry, his heart speeding up at the thought of finally doing something about the desires that had plagued him since he had first seen the blacksmith’s son. His desires for men, the ones his father had told him to be careful about.
But this was Rowen’s new life. It was normal. Even Kristoff liked men.
Rowen let his gaze rove over Volkes’ body. Warmth curled up his spine and quickened his breath. Volkes smirked.
“Yes, right?” He reached up to Rowen’s chin. “Either you are the lightest weight in history, or just really easy.” Rowen wasn't sure he liked his words, but they ceased to matter when Volkes’ lips met his.
Volkes’ were soft, but Rowen felt the tiny pinpricks of stubble, and Volkes moved his lips in such a way that Rowen was guided to copy it, molding his mouth against the other man’s. Volkes pulled with his kiss, as if nibbling on Rowen’s lips, and the sensation sent the curling heat into a burning flame.
“Do you want any more beer?” Volkes asked, breaking apart and leaving Rowen breathless. He shook his head, letting Volkes take the bottle from his hand.
“Have you ever been with anyone?” When Rowen didn’t respond immediately, he clarified. “Have you ever fucked anyone?” Rowen blushed hot.
“Well?” He moved forward, so fast that Rowen stepped back, bumping against the wall. Volkes put a hand on his chest, then trailed it lower, his lips turning up further as Rowen squirmed. He was hard now, his erection uncomortably confined, and he knew it was obvious.
“Answer me. Am I going to be your first?” Volkes didn’t move, his hand motionless an inch above the bulge in Rowen’s pants.
For a moment, Kristoff flashed through Rowen’s mind, and he pushed the thought away. He nodded.
Volkes broke into a victorious smile. “I’m going to make you feel good.”

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Wednesday Briefs: The StormLords part 23

“Rowen?” Kristoff said. “We’re here.” Rowen looked up. The mess hall loomed over him, chattering people heading inside for their evening meal. The breeze blew warm on his skin, but given his fears he couldn’t really enjoy it.
“Eat up. I…we’ll skip the evening lesson for today. Get some extra rest. Tomorrow you have a break from lessons, so take the day to relax.” Rowen nodded.
“And…Don’t worry, Rowen. Please?” Kristoff’s blue eyes bore into his, as if willing him to relax. Rowen couldn’t. But he nodded anyway.
Kristoff would know. The villagers would tell him everything. How he had left his parents to die, stealing their water, all the lies they had believed that had led them to kill him. And he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. Not until he could write, and even then, what reason did Kristoff have to believe him?
No one survived heat spells without water. He didn’t know why his parents had died and he had lived. But he had, long enough to take the pit seeds. Would it have made a difference if his parents had taken them? He didn’t know. It had been too late then.
Thinking of them, of his old village, brought back a sudden pain that was different than the burning healing of his skin over the past week. It had been his home, no matter what.
No. He couldn’t think like that. He had a future here, and there he had been only a sacrifice. He had to focus on the good, on all he could learn and experience here. It was amazing here, so much more beautiful than the dust and heat of his village.
 “I will see you the day after tomorrow. Same time in the morning.” Kristoff smiled, but Rowen couldn’t smile back.
Rowen took his time selecting his meal. The food here was amazing, so much different from the bland tubers that he had eaten as a staple back home. Sometimes his father had bought spices from Alain, but usually it was just starchy vegetables, sometimes cooked into a broth.
Here, there were green vegetables and thick sliced meats with flavorful sauces among the dizzying array of things Rowen had never sampled before, and now that he was no longer in pain he was beginning to enjoy them. Of course, he would have enjoyed the salted meat and sauce he chose more if the idea of Kristoff visiting his hometown wasn’t occupying all his thoughts.
He chose a table near the window, eating the luscious food and watching the sun set. Even the sky was more beautiful here, the puffy clouds and the setting sun shooting it with pinks and purples.
He wanted to forget his past. His family was gone. Lucas was gone. Why did Kristoff have to go back?   
“Hey,” an accented voice said. Rowen nearly dropped his fork. “You look kind of stressed.”
Volkes set his tray down on the table, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “Did something bad happen?” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve got fewer bandages. Bad day at the doctor’s?”
Rowen just nodded. Technically that was true.
Volkes smirked. “Thought so. But you look better without them.” Rowen’s face heated, and he focused on his food. Volkes kept staring at him, a smirk on his face that Rowen didn’t know how to interpret.
“You’re not in pain with all the bandages gone?” Volkes said suddenly. Rowen shook his head.
Volkes leaned back. “Good. Then I have a proposition for you.”
A proposition? Rowen raised both eyebrows.
“I see you’re interested. Good. Tomorrow is rest day. No classes, no work, or anything.” So it was rest day for everyone, not just for him because Kristoff was leaving. That surprised him. “So tonight, we’re going to celebrate you coming here. Are you up for it?”
Rowen wanted to ask what the celebration actually entailed. Celebrations at home had usually involved drinking and dancing by the adults, while the younger ones were expected to serve the drinks and food. They hadn’t earned the right to such things yet. By the time Rowen was old enough, there had been no reason for any parties. Not for him.
Rowen hadn’t celebrated anything in a long time.
“Well?” Volkes set down his fork with a clink.
Rowen nodded. He wanted to see what celebrations here were like.

Wednesday Briefs: The Stormlords part 22

Kristoff was glad Rowen was learning to communicate better and more willing to try, but it only made him more frustrated when he couldn’t understand what Rowen wanted. He started walking, feeling the weight of Rowen’s eyes on him.
“Dr. Lorence told me he wants to…” he had said “speak with him,” but Kristoff didn’t want to use that word. “Examine you again. He wants to see how your burns are doing. And he mentioned being curious about something from your first exam.”
Rowen walked beside him, not behind him as he had the first day, and his gaze roved the surroundings as they headed down the hill through the trees toward the center of the island. The last time they had walked this path he had been confused and most likely in a lot of pain.
“You may or may not remember this, but as we go toward the middle of the island, you can find the medical center. The medical school is also there, in an enormous white marble building. If you ever see someone in a white or gold robe, they’re medical students or doctors. White for a full doctor, gold for a student, and a mix of the two for someone who’s completed their studies but haven’t passed their final exam yet.” Rowen nodded. “The other major building here is the governor’s building, also called the Storm building. That’s where we Storm Lords go to make our reports. All records are kept there.”
Rowen perked up at that. “We keep records of every heat spell we’ve ever dispelled, and how we did it.” Rowen followed his pointing finger, narrowing his eyes at the enormous, two story building. Kristoff’s stomach flipped at the severe expression.
“I’ll take you by there someday soon. Lorana—you remember her—works there. But for now, we have to see Dr. Lorence.”
Rowen looked back with a sigh.
***“Well, just who I wanted to see,” the doctor said as they entered the building. “Rowen, you’re looking much better.” The redhead gave a tentative smile. “Do you feel better?” A nod.
Kristoff felt completely superfluous, but Lorence motioned for him to follow. “Rowen, now that you’re in less pain, I want to give you another examination. Is that alright?” Another nod. They walked up to Lorence’s office, the scent of something herbal wafting through the air.
“Fantastic. Kristoff, please wait out here for the examination.” Rowen turned big eyes on him.
“That’s fine. If that’s okay with you, Rowen?” He stared for a moment, then nodded again.
The door shut, and Kristoff sighed, swallowing against the tension. Dr. Lorence was kind and understanding. Rowen would be fine.
He just wished he knew more. He wondered if there were signs Lorence could find, marks or scars of a past that he could read and tell Kristoff.
Of course, Rowen may not want them read. The reason he had been tied up and left for dead, for example.
He hated thinking that way about Rowen. The man had shown no signs of hostility. But if something was wrong, something he could fix, Kristoff wanted to know. Rowen could just as easily have been a victim of something, and somehow that thought scared Kristoff more.
The door’s creaking interrupted his thoughts. “We’re ready for you.”
A spike of anxiety went through Kristoff as he entered the sun drenched exam room. Rowen stared out the window, his expression neutral. He was shirtless, and while his skin was still pink in some places, the bandages were gone.
“Look here, Kristoff.” Dr. Lorence held up a paper, covered in a detailed drawing of what looked like a seed.
“The first time Rowen came here, I asked him what may have caused his handicap. We were able to surmise that he was poisoned, right?” Rowen looked over, giving a careful nod. The sun lancing through the window and bouncing off the white bedsheets he sat on made his red hair look like fire.
“I asked him to draw me what he ate. He drew these, and surprisingly well, too. We may have an artist on our hands.” He inclined his head toward Rowen. “They look like seeds, though none I’ve seen. Probably a variety specific to that part of the world.”
Kristoff stared. The seeds were oval shaped, with two lines down the center. “Rowen, can you draw the plant that grows from these?”
Rowen shook his head, then shrugged.
“No plant grows from these?”
A pause, then another shrug. Rowen made a quick motion, a careful pinch of the fingers, and mimed throwing something in his mouth.
“Does everyone eat these seeds where you are from?” The doctor walked over to the bed. “Does it have this effect on others?”
Rowen stared, his jaw tense and his eyes lined with pain. Kristoff was about to ask to stop, to revisit the topic another time, when he nodded again.
“Is it curable where you’re from?”
Rowen shook his head, and Kristoff felt a hammer of dissapointment that he hadn’t expected.
“I have a proposition for you both,” Dr. Lorence said. Rowen’s eyes widened. “It may not be curable where you’re from. But if I get my hands on these seeds, perhaps I can figure out more about them. Kristoff, can you fly to the village where you found Rowen and bring me back a sample?”
Kristoff wanted to agree immediately, until he saw the look of terror that flashed across Rowen’s face. Green eyes met his, and Kristoff wished once again that he knew what had happened.
This was the best way. Whatever had happened, whatever Rowen was afraid of or afraid that Kristoff that would find out, it had to be done. “I’ll do it,” he said to Lorence. “Give me the paper.”
When he looked back, a sharp stab of guilt went through his core. Rowen was looking out the window again, his face a careful mask.

Wednesday Briefs: Stormlords part 21

Kristoff had never seen anything like that, and he had sensed, and watched others sense, hundreds of times.
            The first time he had sensed a storm, he had been eight, and it had suddenly appeared in his mental image of the ocean—a swirling mass of air, an enormous hurricane in the middle of the ocean. There was one now, spinning harmlessly hundreds of miles away. Rowen hadn’t sensed it.
            But he had clearly sensed something. Kristoff had felt the tinge of magic, the same tinge that had clued him to Rowen’s location in the desert village. But the sensation, as he had focused on it, was foreign to him. He had never sensed its type before.
            It unnerved him, and he headed to the bar where Lissa usually hung out. He wished he knew more about his mysterious student, but only time would reveal it. It was best not to think about it for now.
            “Kristoff!” As usual, Lissa sat at a table by herself, drinking water and people watching. Not the usual reason a woman her age went to a bar, but Kristoff didn’t mind. “How is your student? Rowen, right?”
            “He’s doing well enough,” Kristoff slumped into a chair across from Lissa, the dark haired woman raising an eyebrow. “I think.” The strange magic, on top of everything else he wanted to know, wasn’t making his new role as mentor any easier.
            “Sure. And how are you doing?” She pushed her drink across the table toward him with a grin. “Looks like you need this more than me.”
            Kristoff gave her a weak smile. “I just never knew mentoring would be so tiring.”
            “Ugh.” Lissa took her drink back, taking a hearty gulp. “I hope I never end up with one. Between your mute and Franken’s annoying little brat, I’ve heard too many horror stories.” Kristoff wouldn’t call Rowen a horror story, but he didn’t argue. “And Katia is pulling her hair out over Volkes.”
            “Volkes? The rude northerner, Rowen’s roommate?”
            “That’s the one. Insufferable, apparently, and he’s gotten worse now that he’s getting close to finishing his training. A competitive streak a mile long, and the worst of the northerner traits. Chauvinistic through and through, no respect for Katia. At least he’s gay, so no woman will ever have to deal with him.”
            Kristoff laughed. “Sure. Shove him off on us.”
            Lissa raised her glass. “I’m sure no man will take him either. He’s very good at what he does, too. Doubly annoying We’ll have to deal with him as a peer soon enough. Katia hoped he would fail under her tutelage and get passed on someone else, but…”  She shrugged.
            “We can’t afford to let anyone fail,” Kristoff said. “Not with the way things have been going.”
            “Believe me, I know.” Lissa sighed, her smile fading. “We have 23 students, total. I may have to find a student, no matter what I want.” She sipped her drink again, her gaze distant. “And you will have to work hard on this Rowen.”
            “Believe me,” Kristoff parroted her. “I know.” ***
            “A change of plans this evening, Rowen,” Kristoff said a few days later. His student stopped at the door to the astronomy hall, letting the other students pass him by. Usually Kristoff met him at the mess hall in the evenings before their lessons on magic, and it was strange to see the adult man in a class with young teenagers.
At least Rowen looked better. Most of the bandages were gone, at least the ones that weren’t covered by clothing, and his skin had stopped peeling in most places. Kristoff tried to quell the thought that his student would be quite attractive when he had healed fully.
Kristoff waited for the other students to leave before he spoke, some of them casting curious glances their way. “Dr. Lorence wants to examine you again. Is that alright with you?”
            Rowen nodded. It had been nearly a week since he had first arrived, and had made what Kristoff considered good progress. He was learning his letters well, according to Lila, though he was not quite at the point where he could write out messages. It felt very strange to be told that an 18 year old man was just at the point of having learned to write his name.
            Rowen was not stupid by any means, though. Considering his background, which Kristoff wished he knew more about, he was doing wonderfully.
            Kristoff wished he saw more signs that Rowen was making friends, but with his classmates being several years younger than him, he supposed there was nothing to be done about it. He could only hope he was getting on with his roommates. He ate with them, at least.
            There had been no repeats of the strange magic Kristoff had sensed, either. Every evening during his instruction, Rowen had not revealed any hint of magic at all. It wasn’t unusual for a new student, but Kristoff wished he could have a chance to analyze that magic again.
            It took Kristoff a moment to realize that Rowen was looking at him with one eyebrow raised, his mouth twisted in a careful, questing smirk. Where had he learned that expression? “Just thinking,” Kristoff said.
            Both eyebrows raised. Rowen pointed at the door, then shrugged.
            Oh. Of course. “I’ll go with you. If that’s alright?” Another nod, but he didn't lose the curious expression.

Wednesday Briefs: Stormlords part 20

Rowen nodded, raising an eyebrow at Kristoff, but the storm lord didn’t offer anything else other than his advice to help “about anything.” Rowen hoped he didn’t mean about…what Volkes had said. His heart beat fast, wondering if Kristoff sensed the same tense, awkward air he did.
 Rowen relished the silence as they walked up a steep incline. Getting the chance to use his magic would be interesting, he was sure. He concentrated on breathing. He was still weak from the ordeal, and his few remaining bandages clung to his body with sweat by the time they reached the top. Stars had begun to appear in the dusk sky.
The island lay spread on either side, and the mess hall was now a speck in the distance. Rayen’s mouth fell open. His desert village had been completely flat. He had never been able to see things from a vantage point like this one before. He wondered if it would be even better if he could learn to fly like Kristoff. His worries about Volkes and about what Kristoff might think faded in the face of the view.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” the storm lord said, smiling at him. “I suppose you get used to it, but the first time seeing the island from here is pretty impressive.” Rowen nodded emphatically, turning to look at the houses that dotted the green landscape.
“This is where most apprentices learn to sense,” Kristoff said. He sounded more formal now as he gave the lesson, and Rowen turned to attend. “There are different types of atmospheric changes that a storm lord can learn to sense, and some have affinities for certain types over others.” Rowen blinked, struggling to decode his words.
            “Now, Rowen, I want you to close your eyes.” He did so. “Feel the breeze on your skin.” There wasn’t much of one, and the bandages blocked most of it. “Can you stretch that awareness of the air around you?”
            Rowen tried. The air was cold against his skin, raising goosebumps when he tried to focus on it. He tried to stretch his sense of it the way he thought Kristoff meant, but all he could do was imagine what the world underneath the hill looked like.
            There must be more than just the island, though. On the edge of it, there must be the ocean. His father had talked about the ocean, an enormous body of water that was always in motion. They had flown over it, he knew, although he hadn’t seen much under the swirling air that Kristoff had conjured.
            Rowen wondered what his father would think of Rowen flying away from their village on the wings of a storm, becoming someone who would have saved him. Should have saved him.
            He opened his eyes and shook his head. “Is there something wrong?” Kristoff said.
            He shook his head again, closing his eyes and focusing once more. If he was going to save anyone, he had to do better.
            He felt the air around him again, and thought of the ocean. Again, however, his thoughts were dragged to the desert. His old home, his family. He screwed his eyes shut tighter, sweat trickling down his forehead despite the cool air. Heat suddenly flashed through him, and he gasped, opening his eyes.
            Kristoff placed a hand on his forehead, his mouth a thin line. Rowen cocked his head.
            “Did you sense anything?” Kristoff asked. He shook his head, face flushing. “That’s alright. It was a good try. I did sense you using magic, though it’s too soon to tell what type. I would guess…lightning?”
            Rowen brightened, his eyebrows raising. He had used magic? He hadn’t even been aware of it.
            “Well, this is good news.” Kristoff said. “It’s certainly reassuring that you can use magic.” Rowen’s face fell. He had doubted it?
            “It’s far too soon for you to start summoning storms, though. It felt very unformed. Don’t worry,” he added quickly, noting Rowen’s expression. “It takes years and years of training to summon any sort of storm.”
            Rowen wished he could ask him about his power. Kristoff Hurricane, Volkes had called him.
            “Good job. I guess…that’s enough for tonight. Let’s head back down.” Kristoff turned, and Rowen followed, aching to ask questions he never could. But he couldn’t. Not until he could write.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Early again, so get a good’s night sleep.” Kristoff said as they made it back down to the base of the hill. “Lessons will be just like this for a while, until you begin to make progress.” Rowen nodded.
            He intended to make progress as quickly as he could.