Chapter 10

It turned out that making a boat out of a single log was a lot harder than Morgan had thought it would be. He’d been thinking that a few choice strikes with one of their stone axes, a little shaping and some ballast, and the thing would just … float like boats were supposed to. Wood floated, after all.

But noooo, it was nothing like that simple. It ended up being an entire project, one that involved fire, of all things. Fire! Fire to make a boat! How was that logical? But it had to do with hollowing and charring and a bunch of other things Morgan didn’t quite understand. Honestly, the whole thing felt like—not a waste of time, because it couldn’t be denied that Auban was going to need a boat, but time that Morgan didn’t have to spend. He wanted to be with Auban, or failing that with Garen, but Garen was being held close by his mother right now, and Brevaer, in turn, was forcing education on Morgan with the help of every elder man in the entire village, it seemed.

That, at least, was something good to come of this boat-building exercise. As soon as Brevaer started asking around for advice on how to make a boat out of a log, every person with the slightest hint of an interest came out of the woodwork—ha—to give their opinion. Many of them were people on the village council, people who Dinigan said he was turning against Brevaer.

They turned right toward him again as soon as Brevaer gave them a challenge that didn’t require them to work on their fighting skills or spend time away from their fields. It turned out heckling—ahem, Morgan meant giving advice—could be delivered from porches.

“Hotter coals, lads, hotter coals! You’re going to get a bad char at this rate!”

“Oof, not that hot though! Do you want to burn right through the side of that log?”

“Should go deeper at the front end, deeper—you need a place to stick your legs, don’t you? Can’t be using this little thing in your sea serpent form, after all.”

“The shape of it, think about the shape of it—you want it to cut through the water, not wallow around like a beached whale!”

Needless to say, the work on the boat was going slowly and with much fanfare, but it gave people a reason to be interested as opposed to being angry at them, so Morgan was for it.

He was less for it when he realized he was going to have to sneak out of his house to get food to Auban either in the dead of night or ridiculously early in the morning at this rate. He hadn’t seen his friend for three days, and although he’d left him with a healthy store of yam patties, berrybread fruits, and fresh water, it wasn’t the same as seeing him and knowing that he was all right.

Maybe Morgan could bring him some more berrybread; it was delightfully sweet, and he knew Auban loved it, and the harvest was almost over …

“Are you sick?”

“Hmm?” Morgan was jolted out of his thoughts by his brother’s blunt question. “What? No!”

“Morgan.” Brevaer stared at him from the other side of the fire, his eyes still but his hands clenching and unclenching. “Don’t lie to me. You ought to be a turtle’s weight heavier than you are now with all the food you’re eating, and instead, you’re losing weight.”

“I’m not!”

“You are!” Brevaer slapped his own waist. “Look at how many times you’re winding your kilt!”

“I—” Morgan looked down and was a little surprised to find that, in fact, he’d added another half twist to his kilt fabric without even realizing it. The layer of baby fat that had been with him his whole life, comfortably padding his stomach and arms, was almost gone.

He hadn’t set aside that much food for Auban … had he?

“Huh.”

“Yes, huh. So I ask you again—are you sick?”

“No.” Morgan tried smiling winningly at his brother. “Maybe I’m going through a growth spurt?”

“You’re never going to get any taller than you are now.”

“I might!” Morgan stood up and gauged the distance from the top of his head to the top of the door. Nope … he wasn’t even close to needing to duck. “All right, maybe not.”

“I’m worried about you.”

Morgan blinked, then laughed. “Don’t be.”

“I am. You’re different lately. Distracted. You haven’t made any art for days.”

“I’ve been working with you on the boat,” Morgan defended himself. “And I have been making art; you just haven’t noticed because it’s small.”

“What is it?”

“It’s …” It’s a present for Auban. Something for him to take with him when he leaves. “I’ll show you.” Morgan pulled out the tiny frame he’d bent into position and showed his brother the painstakingly precise cuts he’d made in the edges of it to loop tiny lengths of thread through. “It’s all from scrap, I promise,” he told him. “I’m not using any of our good cloth to do this.”

Brevaer touched the frame gently. “What is the picture going to be?” Right now Morgan was just getting the first layer down—the background, as it were. It rippled with tiny waves, but there were several carefully flat spaces in the fabric that would soon be filled with …

“Us,” Morgan replied. “In our sea forms.”

“It’s …”

A waste of time, ridiculous, dull …

“Beautiful.”

Oh.“Thank you.”

“But it’s not a reason for you to be losing weight.”

“Ugh!”

In the end, Morgan didn’t need to sneak out of the house. Early the next morning, a call went out in the village that the sturgeon migration was beginning, and Brevaer—and many of the other good swimmers—immediately ran to transform and bring in a heavy catch. Which was perfect because Morgan was very happy to run the other way.

It was actually getting a little easier to make the run now. Despite himself, Morgan was getting fitter and still eating plenty, thank you very much, Brev! He made the run even in the semidarkness of the early dawn, and when he reached the rocky beach, he expected to find Auban asleep.

Instead, he found him standing in the water, entirely nude.

Morgan proceeded to swallow his tongue.

The choking sounds made Auban turn, and luckily for Morgan, his hips were below the water because Morgan wasn’t prepared to be confronted with that much glorious nudity right then. He’d seen Auban naked before, of course—changed his seaweed bandages, cleaned his wounds with seawater—but it hadn’t been like this.

In the darkness, it was hard to see the scars left by the fire. All Morgan could see was his friend’s pleasure in being able to stand, to move, and how the smile on his face made him look even more beautiful.

“Morgan!” Auban called out softly. “You’re earlier than you usually are.”

“I …” Morgan coughed to clear his throat. “I didn’t want to make you wait any longer.”

“I appreciate that,” Auban replied. “I missed you.”

Morgan’s heart briefly stopped. “I … I missed you as well.” More than I knew even though so many other things were going on.

“Come tell me what you’ve been doing.”

“Come … what, into the water?” Morgan eyed him dubiously as he walked over. “Should you be in there? Are you strong enough for this?”

“It’s easier to stand with the sea’s help,” Auban assured him. “And now I’ve got you to catch me if I start to drift away.”

I would love to catch you.“All right.” Morgan took off his kilt and set down the package of food he’d brought, then stepped into the water, resolutely not letting himself think any sexual thoughts—at least until he was covered up again. “My brother and I have been hard at work on a boat for you,” he said. “It’s going … I’m not entirely sure how it’s going, honestly, but I think we’ll be lucky to make you something that floats in the end.”

“I appreciate your efforts even if it doesn’t,” Auban said.

“You won’t appreciate it if you end up capsized in the middle of the ocean,” Morgan said glumly, splashing a little water with his hands.

“I wish I didn’t have to use it.”

Morgan looked up abruptly, his heart pounding. “You do?”

“I do.” Auban looked from him out to the east, where the sun was just appearing over the edge of the sea. He wasn’t shivering, which surprised Morgan—even for an Agnarra like himself, in his land form the water was cold right now. Winter, and the storms that came with it, was slowly turning back toward their island. “It’s peaceful here,” Auban continued, something conflicted in his voice. “I can’t seem to remember my old life, no matter how hard I try, but I get the sense that there wasn’t much peace in it.”

“Well, you did come here on a warship,” Morgan said, then wished he hadn’t.

“I know,” Auban replied quietly. “I just wish I knew why. Did we come here to hunt you? To kill you?” He shook his head. “Why would we do such a thing? What is the point? It’s senseless—look at this island. It’s just large enough for you and your clan. What could anyone else hope to get here?”

“I don’t know,” Morgan said. “I’ve never understood humans.”

“I don’t either,” Auban said, then laughed caustically. “And I am one! You’d think I’d understand my own motives better, but I don’t. I just don’t.” He shivered, and Morgan knew it was time to get him warm again.

“I brought you a berrybread hotcake. It won’t be hot anymore, but it will be delicious. We can talk some more, and I can look at your wounds.”

“They’re nearly healed,” Auban protested, but he didn’t resist as Morgan took his hand and gently pulled him up out of the water. “I just need to build up my strength. Soon, too. I know I can’t stay here during the winter months.”

No, he wouldn’t be able to. The beach was too exposed; he would freeze if he stayed, but there was no way Morgan could bring him into the village. They had perhaps a month, maybe a week or two more than that, and then …

Auban needed to be off the island, or he’d be discovered for sure.

“We’ll figure it out,” Morgan promised him. “Everything will be all right.”

That was when he saw a dark shadow peel away from a low point on the beach and begin to dart away.

Oh no.

Oh shit.

Nothing was going to be all right. Not unless he stopped whoever that was from making it back to the village!

Morgan ran.