“I’m no’ afraid o’ th’ Immortals-be-damned water—I can swim jus’ 's well 's you'd expect, nelo qe.” Pash’s tone was acidic, normally clear blue eyes stormy and hard like a stone at the bottom of the sea,
“But there’s a fine line b’tween swimmin’ t’ save your arse an’ swimmin’ t’ be stupid.”
He’d not come on this jungle misadventure for himself. He didn’t care about the coin. He didn’t care about the discovery. He just wanted to keep others safe, to keep others who were perhaps even more foolish than himself (by Faldrun's fiery ass, was that even possible anymore?) from stumbling down the same overgrown path and end up dead. He wanted this rumor out of the mouths of everyone, off the lips of drunks and adventurers, because, like the Immortal’s Tongue, no one needed to die here. Himself included, of course, but he hadn’t quite thought that through the right way, as was his unfortunate habit.
“Hasta! I don’ need more convincin’ from you. Let’s go—“
The tall Biqaj had already lamented more than once how he should have stayed in bed, the warm, familiar skin of a particular dark-haired Sevir (who was going to poke him full of arrow holes should he lived) against his own. If he drowned, if spiders ate him, if the as-yet-unseen supposed pygmy’s shot him full of poison darts, or if a giant plant devoured him, he’d never be able to tell her the truth, to tell her the vibrant threads that had begun to weave their impossible colors into the tapestry of his existence. If he died and left her angry and not knowing, Pash would never have a moment to tell her that despite all of his fear and failure, despite the emotion-hungry spark that lived within him, despite himself, he loved her.
And, if nothing else good came of this trial, he had to live for that.
That alone.
The rest was madness and he’d willingly agreed to every trill of it. He had to swallow that. He swallowed that now. A bitter taste filled his mouth, thickly coating his tongue at the scuttling sounds that came from the tunnel they’d just come down through, from the web-filled darkness they’d left behind. Tio wanted to reason with the seafaring musician with his own foolhardy infuriating logic. Pash was too busy chewing on the sourness of his own words.
“—drown ’t all!” He spat an appropriately phrased Biqaj curse of sorts, glancing into the black as if he actually wanted to see what he knew was coming. He didn’t,
“Batten your hatch already an’ let’s tack.”
That was the only agreement the blond would get out of the salty bard, and he didn’t hesitate to change his tune no matter how much it stung his insides and churned in the hull of his chest.
In the thick of it now. Damn straight they were.
Pash didn’t jump into the water so much as carefully slip from the edge and quickly ease into the liquid black, keeping the torch above the surface and using his sandaled feet to shove off from the edge, unwilling to extinguish their light and thus his hope. With broad strokes of his free arm and a few well-timed kicks, the tall Biqaj didn’t want to dwell on what could be in the water. He wasn’t a fast swimmer, preferring to focus on strength and stability, but this was an entirely disorienting situation—no sides, no bottom, nothing above them—only darkness and whatever would inevitably appear from back down the tunnel after them. Of course he looked back to see, fiery brand held high overhead, aware that made them a beacon but also kept them from being completely blind.
“Please tell me I’m no’ th’ only one who knows how t’ swim. There’s no time for lessons—U’Frek have mercy.”
U’Frek have mercy, indeed.
Pash exhaled his fear against the surface of the water, moving as far from the edge where they’d been standing as possible lest whatever was coming thought to brave the black liquid with them, every movement of his feet one of caution and dread that something soon would touch his legs and that would be the end of everything with just a little plop and a fistful of ripples in his wake. As
nochi, as children, his brother and a few cousins used to love to find caves in the reefs, used to enjoy sailing until they found a shipwreck, knowing full well that Biqaj wrecks were whispered, sacred secrets of respect. For as long as they could hold their breaths, the darkness in those places wasn’t scary—well, only a little—it was a thrill, foolish fun he knew his mother would have been over furious if she ever found out.
If only this felt the same.
It did not.
“Handsomely now, which way we goin’?”
Off Topic
Pash gets frustrated and all the pidgin comes pouring out. Haha. Not sorry.
