#fiach cfd

~

While high summer blazed down on the northern hemisphere, the southern ocean had mid-winter to deal with. The passage between the Southern Icefields and the Shifting Expanse was all but blocked by ice, which had forced the Cú na Mara almost to a halt. There were still a good few months left until the Brightshine Jubilee, when the clan was due to make land at the Sunbeam Ruins, but Fiach in particular seemed eaten up by impatience.

“How long?” His voice, uncharacteristically harsh, carried over the deck.

“One month – it's fine, we'll have plenty of time to spare before the Jubilee.” Delta was trying to calm him down, which wasn't something Luke ever thought they'd hear. Fiach almost sounded angry, as if Delta had any control over the ice that blocked their route.

Fiach turned and faced east, frowning against the harsh light thrown back by the ice sheet. There was an intensity in his eyes that was equal parts surprising and alarming. “I don't care about the – just – can you try to speed up this boat?”

Delta shrugged helplessly. “I could tow the ship, I guess, but that could damage it. Who knows how far the closest port is? I don't really want to risk it. I hope you understand.”

Fiach looked like he was about to start shouting again. That was Luke's cue to intervene. They put themself between Delta and Fiach and shooed Delta away with a wave of the hand. Delta took the chance to escape, edging away so that he could go and sit with Neven at the stern, where he'd been before Fiach had picked a fight with him.

“If you're angry at something,” Luke said to Fiach, “don't take it out on him.” There was the slightest hint of a warning in their voice. This more than anything seemed to shake Fiach out of his anger.

With a deep sigh he nodded and glanced back out at the ice that blocked their way. It heaved gently up and down along with the waves beneath, giving the unnerving impression that the sea was breathing.

“I thought you hated the Sunbeam Ruins,” Luke said. “But suddenly you can't get there fast enough. If you really want to go, I'm sure you could just fly there.”

Fiach snorted. “Fly? Me? As if. I haven't flown since I lost my arm. That's why I'm frustrated – I used to be able to fly anywhere I wanted, and now I can't. You don't know what that's like.”

Luke stared at him, their patience rapidly running out. “Watch who you're talking to, old man.” But they were less angry than just really really confused. Because Fiach had avoided the question. He had spent most of his life running from the Sunbeam Ruins. A sudden brush with flightlessness wouldn't change that. Luke and Delta had actually discussed how best to break it to Fiach that they were going to the Jubilee, aware that he didn't like being near the Ruins.

Fiach smiled apologetically and reached out to ruffle Luke's hair. They caught his wrist before he had a chance and put another few feet of distance between the two of them.

“Tell Delta I'm sorry for shouting,” Fiach said.

“Tell him yourself.” Luke beat a hasty retreat, pointing him towards the benches where Delta and Neven sat arm in arm. As Fiach set off, Luke took the opportunity to simply marvel at the newlyweds. Never had there been such a sickeningly saccharine couple. Not even Luke could be angry at them.

As Luke watched, Delta pulled Neven against his side and pressed a kiss to the top of their head. It was cute. Trying something similar with Rúth would have resulted in a swift and merciless suplex, which was more fun in Luke's opinion, but hey. Different strokes for different folks.

Speaking of Rúth...

Luke glanced up and down the deck, but saw no tell-tale flash of orange. On sunny days like this, Rúth tended to prefer the top deck, but lately they'd been somewhat reclusive. Clearly, Fiach wasn't the only one keeping secrets on the ship. It was annoying, but it wasn't Luke's job to go chasing after Rúth and demanding the truth.

A blast of icy wind swept down the deck, making the tightly-wound sails clatter. Luke drew up their hood. The leaves that had sprouted pretty much everywhere from their skin already bore blackened frost-scorched marks. The sooner the ship got back up over the equator, the better.

And then the ship vanished. Luke stood alone in a plain white expanse, huddled against wind that no longer existed.

Were they dreaming? Perhaps they'd been asleep all along. They turned on the spot, severely disoriented by the stationary ground, too used to a rocking deck underfoot.

A figure appeared in front of them. Luke froze. The figure was bipedal and vaguely dragonish. Two legs, two arms, upright stance. But strange and unnervingly warped, as black and featureless as a shadow. There was something about it that shook Luke to their core, something not right, something that just didn't belong. The hornless head seemed to turn to face Luke.

When it spoke, its voice seemed to emanate from all around equally.

“This is a message for all my beloved bogsneaks,” it said. It sounded like it was smiling. “Your time has almost come. When the time is right, and the armies have gathered, you'll know what to do. Well, I'll tell you in later messages, this is really just to test if you all can hear me – can you hear me?”

Luke didn't respond, too busy backing away. But the figure nodded anyway. “Great! The channel works. Now, when you guys wake up you won't remember our conversations, so I guess I can say whatever I like right now.”

“Wait, what?” Luke said, shocked into responding.

The figure was definitely smiling now. It didn't seem to hear Luke. “So,” it said. “Would you all like to know the truth about your world?”

Someone was tapping Luke's cheek. They flinched against the sunlight, squinting up at the ring of anxious faces that looked down at them.

Delta gave a tiny wave. “You're back.”

“Did I fall?” Luke said, sitting up. Only a second ago they'd been standing on the deck, sheltering against the wind. And now here they were, surrounded by onlookers as if...

“You fainted,” Delta said. “Um. Do you feel okay?”

“I feel fine.” Luke took Delta's offered hand and stood up. This caused the crowd to disperse. Luke checked themself from head to toe for signs of injury or fever, but everything seemed to be in working order. Strange.

Delta was still watching them anxiously. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” Luke said. “I guess... maybe sunstroke? I'll go below and sleep, I suppose. But I really feel fine.” They shrugged again, thoroughly confused.

“Huh. Yeah, sleeping sounds like a good choice.” Delta ushered Luke towards the stairway down belowdecks. “Don't scare us like that again.”

~

Hawthorn trees were not particularly suited to salt-water conditions. Even a few minutes spent under the Cú na Mara made Luke's head ache, made them feel waterlogged and short of breath even though their gills were (apparently) working perfectly. Underneath the barnacle-studded keel of the ship should have been the perfect hiding spot, close enough that if – gods forbid – anyone truly needed their help, they could get back on-board fairly quick.

But life could never be that easy. As a guardian child living on a beach in the Sunbeam Ruins, they'd spent hours at a time in the sea, comfortable in an aquatic environment. That comfort was all but gone now. Only ten minutes had passed before they had to abandon the salt water. Sticking close to the hull of the ship they cast a suspicious glance up before daring to breach the surface of the sea. Vaska was nowhere to be seen.

She wasn't the only one Luke was trying to avoid. Neither was she the worst of the dragons currently demanding Luke's attention, but she was certainly the most persistent. After checking that the coast was clear, Luke abandoned their winged form and took hold of the mouldy rope ladder dangling from the side of the ship. About halfway up the side of the bow was a porthole wide enough to pass through; it led directly into Luke's personal quarters. Although the door of the porthole should have been shut in all but the most perfectly calm weather, Luke couldn't help but leave it open, a potential escape route if they were cornered in their room.

Thankfully, nobody was around. They dressed, shaking water-logged petals to the floor, and took a hopeful step towards their hammock.

There came an impatient knock on the bulkhead that made up the back wall of the room. There were no doors in this part of the ship, and therefore no way of keeping Leo from marching right into Luke's bedroom.

“Go away,” Luke said, before Leo could open his mouth.

“Get fucked, Luke,” Leo snapped. “Zeta wants you. Some kinda medical emergency.”

“Tell him to get Fiach. I'm not his mother.”

“Fiach's busy with Tadhg. Believe me, I wouldn't want to inflict your miserable company on anyone if it wasn't absolutely necessary.” Leo planted both of his left hands on his hip, his un-bandaged eye fixed in a glare.

“Cheers.” Luke cast their hammock another longing glance, then rounded on Leo. “All right, you prick, you go and tell Zeta...” And with a sigh, they took their spellbook from a nearby shelf. “Tell him I'll be there in a minute, okay?”

Leo shot them an insufferably superior look before vanishing back around the corner of the bulkhead. Luke followed, leaving a trail of sea water in their wake on their way to the ship's surgery.

It was all the way back at the stern, wedged in between two cargo holds and an unused livestock bay. Not exactly the most hygienic of locations. Even if Luke hadn't known the way to the surgery by heart, the thin yelps of pain that filled the air would have led them there without trouble.

Inside the cramped surgery, one of the new tops-men, Lehine, was stretched out on Zeta's examination table. Her teeth were bared in a warning snarl and her left hand curled into a rigid fist as Zeta anxiously fretted over her right shoulder.

“Oh, you're here,” Zeta said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. “Do you, uh, do you know how to fix a dislocated shoulder?”

“Leo told me it was an emergency,” Luke said, unimpressed.

“Well, I mean,” Zeta said, “she did fall off the topmast.”

“That's not an emergency.” Luke made a mental note to confront Leo later about this blatant misrepresentation of Lehine's injuries. They set aside their spellbook; this was a simple fix and didn't need any magic. “Sit her upright. You better watch closely, Zeta, I'm not going to do this again for you.”

“Of course,” Zeta said, helping Lehine into a sitting position. “I'll just... I'll take notes, over here...”

“No, you need to hold her still.”

“Why?”

Lehine hissed in pain, her eyes screwed shut.

“She'll struggle.” Luke took her by the wrist, pinning her elbow by her side. “Okay, you just have to rotate the arm in like this-”

Lehine yelled furiously and attempted to shove herself backwards, but Zeta held her fast. With a sickening click the shoulder joint popped back into place. Lehine's struggles stopped abruptly and she sat there, tears streaming down her cheeks, breathing hard.

“And that's how you do it.” Luke leant back. “Did you see that?”

Zeta nodded furiously, grabbing his medical notebook from the top of the bed. He started writing, pausing only to flash Luke a shaky thumbs-up.

“Would it have killed you to just use magic?” Lehine said. She was still shaking. “That hurt.”

“There's gratitude for you. Zeta, let me know if you need anything, I'm going to-” Luke turned to go and almost stumbled directly into Vaska, who had been waiting as if to pounce just inside the surgery.

“So,” she said quickly, “if I was going to use magic to fix that, how would I do it?”

“Nice try.” Luke tried to push her aside so that they could escape, but she dug in her claws and blocked the way. Although her question had been spoken in relatively innocent tones, the look in her eyes was full of the bloody-minded determination that Luke was all too keen to avoid.

“Vaska-”

“You can't hide from me forever,” she said.

“I shouldn't have to!” Luke growled. “Go and bother Fiach if you want to learn so much.”

“I did, and he told me that he was busy, and that you're a coward for avoiding me like this,” she said.

Luke's eyes widened. “He did not.”

“Uh,” Zeta said, waving for their attention, “do you guys mind moving your argument upstairs?”

“Yes, why don't we?” Luke said. They abandoned their attempt to shove Vaska aside and grabbed a handful of her tunic instead. Aware that she'd touched a nerve, she didn't resist, letting herself be led out of the surgery, up several flights of steps, and onto the deck of the ship.

It was as busy as ever, the new masts still being fitted, sails spread out over the floor in preparation to be attached to the new fore-mast. Fiach was right at the base of the bowsprit, speaking to his son Tadhg. He glanced up at the commotion of Luke and Vaska's approach and visibly sighed in exasperation.

“Again?” he demanded, waving Tadhg away. “Can't you two sort yourselves out like rational adults?”

“She says you called me a coward,” Luke said, jabbing an accusatory finger at Vaska. She flinched, glancing sideways at Fiach as if she had been caught lying. Exactly as if she had been caught lying. Luke couldn't help but smile triumphantly at her reaction.

“That's not what I said,” Fiach said, with admirable patience. “Don't misrepresent me, Vaska. All I said, Luke, was that you shouldn't be avoiding your responsibilities like this.”

That was hardly better than a straight-up accusation of cowardice. Luke's smile died away. “It's not my responsibility to teach her,” they muttered, lowering their gaze.

“You were fine with teaching me on the pirate ship,” Vaska said.

“By the way, Vaska,” Fiach said, clearly doing his very best to avoid participating in the argument any further, “Ailbhe was looking for you earlier. You'll find her patching sails on the other end of the deck.”

Vaska's eyes widened. Like magic, she seemed to completely forget the argument. Without another word she turned and jogged off towards the stern, leaving Luke and Fiach alone.

Luke tried to slip away, but Fiach just had to get a last word in.

“You know, anyone else would find her insistence very flattering.”

“Don't talk to me like that, old man.” Luke leant against the wooden deck railings with a sigh, very little fight in their voice. “I just don't know if I'm ready. That's all.”

Fiach snorted in amusement. “How old are you again? Fifteen?”

“That's mean.”

“Meaner than calling me an old man?” Fiach smiled, rolling up the scroll he had been showing Tadhg. “You know I don't want to get involved, but I'll tell you this.”

“You couldn't be more involved in my business if you tried.” Luke leant over the railings, watching the progress of a shed petal as the wind caught it. The calm sea stretched out in all directions, unbroken.

“Enough of the smart mouth,” Fiach said. There was a serious note in his voice now that made Luke glance around apologetically. “Listen,” he said. “That girl is set on learning healing magic. And if you don't teach her, she'll try learning on her own, and you know how dangerous that is.”

Luke did know. With another sigh they nodded.

“Now, where has my only good child gone off to?” Fiach said, the seriousness gone from his tone. He wandered off, waving to Tadhg. Luke remained at the railing, watching more petals drift down to the grey water below. Even the slightest gust of wind pulled petals off the annoying – and frankly very embarrassing – blossoms that wreathed Luke's horns. The salt-water had probably damaged them, they thought, vaguely mollified.

Of course, this moment of relative peace could not last. The shouts of workers in the background muffled the approaching footsteps of John until it was far too late. Luke just happened to glance aside, only to find John's wide golden eyes only a couple of inches from their own.

John was quite a different beast to Vaska or Leo. He didn't want to make use of Luke's medical knowledge or healing spells. Several times a day he approached and simply stared, a deep, disconcerting curiosity in his eyes.

“And you're certain you don't remember it?” he said, as if there had been no break at all between now and their previous conversation.

“I've told you all I know,” Luke said dully.

“Was it painful?” John said, undaunted. He had a notebook like Zeta's tucked under one arm, at the ready. Anything Luke was stupid enough to reveal would be written down and pored over and filed away, as John continued to conduct his horrible research.

“I don't remember,” Luke said.

“Normal breed changes are said to be very painful indeed,” John said. “It must have hurt. Don't you think?”

“I don't remember it.”

“Tell me – do you mind if I-” John's hand flicked out, brushing the spine of Luke's precious spellbook. With a warning growl, Luke pulled it back out of John's reach.

“So you do still feel protectiveness over your charge,” John said, nodding thoughtfully. No doubt he'd make note of it later.

“Or maybe I don't like you touching my stuff.” Luke held the book defensively.

“You must excuse me,” John said, in a fake tone of apology. “It's just that I never thought that I would ever meet the victim of a bogsneak reversion in my lifetime. I have to know as much as I can – this type of magic is incredibly rare. During my education in Her Majesty's army it was forbidden to even discuss bogsneak reversion, so you see I'm just so curious-”

“And that's grand, whatever,” Luke said, “but I don't remember it. There's nothing I can tell you. I was unconscious when I changed.”

“I see,” John said. But he didn't stop staring. “Tell me, do you miss flight?”

“Did Leo put you up to this? That prick.”

“No. Sadly, Leo lacks any drive to educate himself. I've tried to instil a better ethos in him, but there's very little I can do.” John fussily brushed a non-existent speck of dust off his glove. “You know, I've been curious about this since I first heard of the concept. A clash of magical forces powerful enough to displace one from their gods-given draconic form... to turn them into something entirely different...” He sighed wistfully. “In most cultures, the afflicted were put to death. Did you know that?”

Luke clearly wasn't going to get rid of John any time soon. But at this tidbit of news they couldn't help but glance over at him questioningly. “Why?” they said.

As ever, John was all too happy to dispense information. “Why do you think? Most people have never heard of reversions, and you can imagine some simple backwoods clan being sent into a panic as one of their own transforms. For all they know it could be a result of some contagious disease, or a curse. To them, executing the bogsneak was a matter of common sense. In wealthier areas, their treatment wasn't much better. They might not have killed the victim of the reversion, but... well, Leo told me that at his university they had an extremely rare – one of a kind, really – wet specimen of a bogsneak, preserved in alcohol. The subject of a vivisection.”

Luke recoiled. They had no doubt that John was telling the truth. Suddenly the clan's current predicament, having been stranded far out at sea, became a blessing.

“So you see,” John said, his smile widening, “the sooner I can determine what exactly happened to you and why, the sooner we can write you off as no threat to the clan's well-being.”

“You think I'm a threat?” Luke said. “But... honestly, I'd be more concerned about the tree thing. Right?”

John waved a hand airily. “The wood curse is rare, granted, but it operates within the bounds of our knowledge of magic. Bogsneak reversions do not. We are outside the realm of the gods here.” His eyes widened and he leant closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Tell me one thing, and I'll leave you be for today. How fares your connection to the Lightweaver? You are a paladin, are you not?”

“Fine,” Luke said, perhaps a little too quickly. “It's fine! It's just – it's fine. I talked to Her yesterday, actually.” They found that they couldn't meet John's eyes, and quickly glanced back down at the sea.