Chapter 8

Fear, fatigue … these things were all in the mind, right? That was what Brevaer said, at least, when he was whapping students around the legs and shoulders with the knob end of a piece of seaweed, chiding them to do better. If it was all in the mind, then Morgan just had to make sure his mind didn’t pay attention to those things. Then he’d be able to do this run just fine … right? And not huff and puff and wheeze and grind to a halt in less than a mile, which was how it had gone last time, thereby not letting on to his brother that he was a liar who hadn’t been training nearly as much as he said and was, in fact, secretly visiting an injured human on the pebble beach. No, that would be bad.

So he wouldn’t do it, because otherwise Auban might get caught, and Morgan definitely didn’t want that. So he was going to be fine!

That was an easier thing to tell himself than it was to act upon, it turned out.

First was the fact that Brevaer, for all his talk about pacing Morgan, seemed to think that “pace” meant “pick up the pace” because after just a minute they were going at a speed that Morgan would have called a sprint any other day.

Second, Garen was absolutely no help, because it was clear from the second they asked him to join them that he thought Morgan was doing this as a favor to him, so that he could get some personal time with Brevaer. That meant that instead of playing to Morgan’s preferences and slowing things down, he stretched his stride to keep up with Brevaer. Which, rude, what kind of friend abandoned you for a chance at romance? A poor one, that’s what.

Third, as desperately as Morgan didn’t want anyone to find Auban, he was getting perilously close to his limit by the time they ran past the pebble beach. His lungs burned, he had a stitch in his side that made him want to vomit, and his feet felt like they were about to fall off. He wasn’t going to be able to make it. He wasn’t going to—

Be able to keep his balance! Morgan’s lead foot hit an unfamiliar rock—unfamiliar because he never ran this far, damn it—and sent him sprawling onto the ground. He swore as he hit knee, then hip, then shoulder, pain on top of pain. At least he managed to avoid smacking his head, he thought as he tried not to gag for air.

“Morgan!” That was Garen, running back toward him. Brev was hot on his heels. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, rolling over onto his back and sitting up. “I’m fine, I just fell and …” And actually, this could work out okay for him. “And my hip really hurts,” he groaned, rubbing it theatrically. Not too theatrically—he didn’t want Brev to think he’d broken it or something. The fact that both his knees were bleeding, and his shins were coming up in blue and purple, lent some valuable believability to his story, though.

“Darn it, I can’t believe I tripped like that.” Morgan sighed. “That hasn’t happened on a run before. Ow, my whole side hurts.”

“Let me check it,” Brev said. Morgan sat there and endured the indignity of having his brother squish him like a piece of fried yam, making sure none of his bones were broken. Finally, Brev pulled back.

“It’s not serious.”

“Well, it feels bad enough,” Morgan pouted. He saw his brother’s lips go terse and knew he was skirting the line of his tolerance, so he continued, “I think a little time just sitting here would be good. If you two want to keep running, maybe down to the point and back, I can rejoin you then. That way the run won’t be for nothing.”

“Running is never for nothing,” Brev said about the most nothing thing to do in existence. “But …” He glanced at Garen. “If you’re up for it …”

“I am!” Garen said quickly. Morgan stifled a smile. Could his best friend be any more obvious? How had Brevaer possibly not figured it out yet? “That sounds good to me. It won’t take us long.”

“Not at your pace, it won’t.”

Was that a jab at him? Morgan was sure that was a jab at him. He wanted to tell his brother that he had noticed that, but his good sense overrode his internal outrage. “I’ll be waiting,” he said. “Go on, shoo.”

Brev rolled his eyes but turned and ran off. Garen paused long enough to mouth, “Thank you,” at Morgan before hurrying to catch up. Morgan sat where he was, like a pathetic little thing, until they were out of sight. Then he leapt to his feet, winced because his knees really did hurt, ow, then limped over to the beach. Once he got close to the overhang, he called out, “Auban?”

Nothing.

“Auban?” Morgan tried more loudly. There was still no reply. Oh, no … had something happened to him? Morgan crawled over the rocks in a flurry, forgetting his pain, until he finally got within sight of the ledge, and—

Oh, he was asleep.

“Thank the gods,” Morgan breathed. “I was afraid you were gone.”

He’d tried to be quiet when he said it, but Auban blinked his eyes and slowly lifted his head from the pillow of seaweed it was resting on. “Morgan?” he croaked.

“It’s me,” Morgan said, rushing the rest of the way over. He grabbed the little clay pot, heavily chipped along one side, that he’d brought to keep water in and handed it to Auban. “Drink,” he said worriedly as he stared at the other man. Did his wounds look redder today? Was he dealing with an infection? How would his human body react to an Agnarra cure? “Are you all right? Do you feel unwell?”

“Mmm.” Auban tolerated Morgan pressing a hand to the unburned part of his forehead. “I’m all right, just tired. I was awake for a lot of the night.”

“What? Why? Are you not comfortable enough?” As soon as he said it, Morgan realized how silly that sounded. How could the man be comfortable enough with nothing but seaweed to cushion him and keep him warm? “I’m so sorry, I should bring you more—here, take my kilt, it will keep you warm at night.” He tried to unwind the dark-green cloth, but Auban stayed his hand.

“I’m fine, really. I’m not uncomfortable,” he assured Morgan. “I’m actually doing much better than I thought I would be. Watch.” He braced his arms on the ground, then ever so slowly, pushed himself up into a sitting position. Morgan was both amazed and worried to see it. Would his scabs crack and break? Would he start bleeding all over again? But no, his skin remained supple, and his arms, though skinny from lack of use, were strong enough for this much, at least.

“It’s a good start, isn’t it?” Auban asked, his bright eyes shining with pleasure.

“Such a good start,” Morgan breathed. Auban looked positively beautiful when he was happy with himself.

“It made me think that … we ought to begin making plans to get me offyour island.”

Morgan frowned. “Why?”

Auban smiled gently. “Morgan, what would your people do if they found me?”

“Oh.” Right.

“I’ll probably need a boat to get out of here,” Auban continued, totally blind to the chaos that was ensuing in the center of Morgan’s chest. “Unfortunately, if I once knew how to make one, I don’t anymore.”

“I don’t know how to make one either,” Morgan said numbly. “We’ve never needed boats.” But how had they gotten all their things here from their last island, then? “There might be something else I can find plans for, though. Not a boat like the one you came on, but something that would keep you out of the water, at least.”

“Anything you can do would be a great help to me.” Auban braced himself on one hand and held the other out to Morgan. “You’re already a great help to me, far better than I deserve.”

“That’s not true.” Morgan knew it in his heart. Auban was good, he was good through and through. “Oh!” He reached into his shirt and pulled out a very worse-for-wear yam patty. “Here.” He put the patty into Auban’s outstretched hand. “I’m sorry it’s not more; I promise I’ll bring something better tomorrow, but I’ve got to get back to the trail before my brother suspects something, and …”

“It’s all right.” Auban took the food and set it aside. His cheeks were getting rather pink.

“Are you sure you’re not running a fever?”

“Very sure.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Morgan said. His hand tingled with the realization that he’d just lost the chance to touch Auban. Stupid, stupid … “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He retreated before he made an even bigger fool of himself, crawling out from beneath the overhang, up onto the bigger rocks above it, then— “Ah!” Garen was right there, with a look of mingled concern and suspicion on his face.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” he asked.

“I was, um, washing myself off a bit.” Luckily his legs were indeed wet after kneeling down.

“Why not use the lower part of the beach? It’s way easier to reach.”

“I … wanted a place to sit and let my legs dangle,” Morgan said. “It felt easier on my hip.”

“Ah.” The suspicion was still there. “Were you speaking to someone?”

Morgan scoffed, louder than he should have. “Who else would come all the way out here? I was admonishing myself, that’s all.” He looked at the ground, in part to disguise his anxiousness. “My first chance in forever to impress my brother, and I had to go and ruin it. Thank the gods you came along, or he would have been so mad at me for wasting his time.”

Garen grinned. “I’m glad you invited me. He’s … Brevaer is really great, actually.”

“I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

“Morgan! Garen!” Brev called out from the path, his hands cupped around his big, loud mouth. “Stop talking and start moving!”

“Ugh,” Morgan groaned.

“Can you run?” Garen asked.

“I’ll try.”

Anything to get us out of here faster.