#sheisha

Mal does not like mages.

Sheisha’s an exception, of course, and, sometimes, so is Keo, when he’s being quiet and useful. But otherwise, mages are a nuisance at best, and a travesty at worse.

This one is somewhere in between, but he continues to slip closer and closer to the travesty side of things. Mal crosses his fingers behind his head, the pastel blue bands wrapped around his wrists tugging at the peripheries of his vision. Black veins wrap through the magical constraints - Keo would call it a sign of haihaiā magic. Unholy, unhealthy, forbidden, and perfect for a double-dealing haole bastard.

More of the bands encircle his ankles, and there is one more around his neck that, unlike the other four, Mal could actually feel, like an itch that won’t go away. That means - something. He isn’t sure what. Mal is so completely devoid of magic that he can’t really feel the slight fizz or whatever that most everyone else does. He’s fine with that.

No bars or doors stop him from getting off his cot and wandering around the building, but Mal doesn’t bother. Redding’s spell stops him at the threshold of any exit and window, and prevents Mal from getting within arm’s reach of the man. This is unfortunate, because Maluko’oi longs to stab him through the neck.

He hears Redding’s shuffling limp stop at the doorless entry to the small room Mal had claimed the night before. Instead of acknowledging the mage, Mal closes his eyes.

“Get up,” Redding demands, his voice gruff. Mal ignores him, until Redding sighs, adds, “Your wife is here.”

Mal’s reluctance evaporates. He swings his bare feet over the side of the cot to stand. Redding has to crane his neck to squint up the near foot of height difference.

“She brought your daughter, as well,” Redding says. Mal is careful to keep his expression blank. “Perhaps not the wisest choice she could have made.”

He looks expectantly at Mal, but eventually Mal’s bland stare disappoints the mage. Redding huffs, then jerks his head to the side. As the older man scratches his short, salt-and-pepper beard, Mal follows.

Redding has designated an old warehouse on the very edge of a near-dead town to meet with Nanoni. It had probably stored farming or construction equipment, once upon a time, but now it’s dusty and empty, though a corner of the top floor shows evidence of Redding having camped out for a few days. The cot, for example, that he, surprisingly, hadn’t forced Mal to give up the night before, once the islander’s resigned himself to being held for ransom.

At the very least, Redding doesn’t talk overmuch. Mal doubts he could handle it if the bastard is smug and gloating. He stands silently in the middle of the open bottom floor, and Mal stays as close as the spell allows him. He crosses his arms over his chest while they wait, rocking back on his heels.

For once, Nanoni is on time. Mal doesn’t doubt that she and Sheisha have already scouted out the warehouse, but he’s glad she isn’t going to play games.

His wife is rattled. It’s difficult to tell for anyone who doesn’t know her well, but Mal can see it in the way Nanoni stalks across the warehouse floor. Her lips are pressed into a small, tight smile, but while Nanoni at least makes an effort to hide her anger, Sheisha does not. Shorter than her mother by a good six inches, Sheisha otherwise looks like the spitting image of Nanoni, kicking the warehouse door shut behind her so that the slam of it echoes through the room. Mal’s lips twitch towards a smile when Redding flinches. Regardless, Mal holds one hand to the side in a calming motion - this isn’t how Sheisha should behave during business exchanges.

Sheisha scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Darling, are you all right?” Nanoni asks, her glance skipping right over Redding as if he doesn’t exist. Maluko’oi gives one single nod and the slightest hint of a smile in return, and watches her relax by a millimeter.

Redding taps his cane against the floor. “That’s close enough,” he says mildly, and Nanoni stops a few yards away, shifting her weight onto her right foot. Sheisha stays so close behind her mother that she nearly bumps into her.

Nanoni flicks a finger at the blue bands Mal wore. “What are those?” she asks, her voice taut. Redding doesn’t look away from the cloth-wrapped bundle Sheisha carries. It looks like they’ve taken one of the hotel blankets to make an impromptu wrapping for the vase.

“Merely restraints,” Redding says, waving a dismissive hand. “I didn’t fancy getting murdered in my sleep. Put the urn down, please.”

Nanoni tilts her head towards Sheisha, but the teenage girl hesitates. “Aren’t we going to make him let Dad go, first?” she hisses at her mother, speaking Kamean. Nanoni keeps her eyes on Mal.

“Sweetheart,” she says, “just play along for now. We’ll sort things out in a moment.”

Growling in frustration, Sheisha stomps forward until Redding motions for her to stop, midway between him and Nanoni. Sheisha opens her arms, dropping bundle to the ground with a muffled clang.

This time, both Maluko’oi and Redding wince.

“If you’ve broken it, you stupid girl,” Redding snaps, showing the first sign of frustration Mal has ever seen in him. Both Maluko’oi and Nanoni whip their heads around to glare at him, Nanoni’s hand disappearing behind her back. Redding narrows his eyes and wisely swallows whatever he had been about to say.

“Relax,” Sheisha says in a flat voice. “It’s copper.”

It’s also completely useless, but none of them were going to tell Redding that. Whatever curse the urn once held, it faded years ago. Even legendary magic doesn’t last forever.

Redding takes a quiet breath that Mal barely hears, and then forces a smile on his face. He shuffles forward as Sheisha backs away, her arms crossing over her chest with her fingers digging into her skin. She chews on the end of her long black braid, a habit her parents had tried - and failed - to break for years.

The three Neokois stand there in silence as Redding, with obvious difficulty, kneels to inspect the vase, partially unwrapping it. After a moment, he grunts and stands, hefting the bundle under his free arm.

“Redding,” Nanoni snaps. He makes it to the exit before turning to give them a thin smile, and then taps his cane against the ground. The bands around Maluko’oi’s neck, arms, and ankles disappear, and Nanoni’s composure finally cracks.

She rushes towards him, just shy of running; Mal’s quick to meet her, one hand circling around her back, and the other getting lost in her hair before his mouth is on hers.

It’s the easiest way for him to let her know he’s all right.

Sheisha pauses just to the side, as eager as her parents, but hesitant to interrupt. Nanoni breaks away, then nuzzles into his collarbone. Her hands curl into fists against his chest.

“I’ll tear him apart,” she promised, her voice low. Mal grins into her hair, but then he shakes his head.

“No need,” he murmurs. They can worry about Redding later; Maluko’oi just wants to see the back of him, for now. He shoots the limping mage a look over Nanoni’s head, and Redding coughs, straightening as he uses his cane to shove open the door.

“I’d say enjoy what short time you have left,” Redding says blithely, angling the top of his cane in Maluko’oi’s direction. The knob of black glass on top of it flashes blue. “But I don’t think you will.”

Nanoni pulls away slightly, frowning. Mal lifts a hand to his neck. It itches.

“What was that?” Sheisha demands, whipping around so quickly her braid bats against Mal’s side. Nanoni sucks in a sudden breath, and Mal looks down to find his hand wrapped around her throat.

“Mal,” she starts, but then his foot snakes behind her ankle, and Maluko’oi slams his wife to the ground.

He stares at her for one horrified second. The black-veined bonds are back around his wrists, and Mal opens his mouth to tell Nanoni he’s sorry, he hadn’t meant to - hadn’t even realized he’d done that until they’re both on the ground, his knee on her torso, thumbs pressing against her windpipe.

But instead of saying anything, Mal chokes.

“Dad!” Sheisha’s voice is a startled yelp. He catches her moving towards him from the corner of his vision, and his hands let go of Nanoni. Instead, as Sheisha closes in, they latch onto her, and he flips his daughter over his shoulders.

It’s enough of a distraction for Nanoni to eel her way out from under Mal. Sheisha hits the ground with a grunt, and Mal straightens up, bouncing his weight to the balls of his feet.

What is he doing?

“Maluko'oi!” Nanoni snaps angrily, one hand going to her throat as she scrambles to her feet. He tries again to speak, to tell her that he hadn’t meant to, that this wasn’t him - but the band around his neck tightens and burns.

“You islanders make your men so obedient,” Redding says dryly. “Not an ounce of willpower. This was far too easy.”

“Kanapapiki!” Sheisha shouts. She rolls to her feet and rushes for the door. Mal, without thinking about it, without even wanting nothing but to crush Redding’s skull against the pavement, takes three long steps and catches Sheisha around the middle.

“Mal!” Nanoni shouts. “Stop it!”

He can’t stop himself. Something has - has split Mal away from part of himself, separating his mind from any control of his body. He kicks Sheisha’s feet out from under her, and as she drops, turns to meet his wife. From the corner of his eye, he sees Redding leave the building. Thick bars of blue magic appear across the door, locking them in.

Nanoni swings a fist at him. Mal blocks it with ease, shifting his weight forward to strike back. It isn’t someone controlling him, he realizes, as Nanoni skips away from his sudden barrage. These are all his moves, his reflexes and anticipations. He knows how Nanoni fights, and so he knows exactly how to block her, exactly how she’ll strike next.

And he knows when she’s distracting him.

He catches Nanoni’s fist and uses it to push her away, turning as he does so. Sheisha’s rushing him from behind, and she bounces one foot up into a high kick that Mal blocks with his shoulder, bracing against her painful impact. She rebounds off him with a force that will bruise Mal for days, but instead of pursuing, he returns his attention to Nanoni.

He’s too slow. Her elbow cracks into his jaw and he stumbles back. Mal - or whatever it is controlling him - remembers Sheisha behind him, and swings around to lash out. She slides easily under his guard, thumping his ribs before she flashes to her mother’s side. Mal stumbles one step, but his fists lift even as his hopes rise.

Maluko’oi’s sparred with Sheisha and Nanoni millions of times. He’s trained Sheisha; even as he knows all their tricks, they know all of his. And they beat him nine times out of ten. Both of them together could easily take him down.

He tries not to think how most of the time they spar, he holds back.

Nanoni makes it easy for him not to think. She swings a fist towards his stomach, and as he blocks it, strikes him again across the face, a blow that rings in his ears. Sheisha hangs back, and Mal clenches his teeth, wondering why.

“Snap out of it, Mal!” Nanoni skips away from him as he retaliates. He reaches for her, and she slides around him, kicking the back of his leg. Mal drops to one knee, but instead of following up, both Nanoni and Sheisha back away.

They could take him.

“Dad, please - you have to stop,” Sheisha begs, as he advances on them again.

Why did they hold back?

His daughter slips under his swing; Nanoni comes in to run interference, and Mal winces internally as he hits her on the ribs. Sheisha darts in, tripping him up.

They have weapons, Mal thinks with a snarl, feeling a slow anger welling up. They have weapons, they need to use them. He wants to yell, to curse, to tell them that he’s sorry, he’s so, so sorry, why did they hold back -

Sheisha isn’t fast enough.

He slams a fist into the side of her head, and she crumples. Maluko’oi freezes in shock, eyes wide. For one split second, he snaps back into himself.

Sheisha isn’t moving.

Mal stares down at her, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

“Sheisha!”

Nanoni stares at her daughter’s still form, and then turns her glare on Mal. Knives appear in her hands and Mal, hating himself more and more with every passing second, can only think, Finally.

“That is our daughter!” Nanoni yells, furious and enraged. Mal shifts back as she runs towards him. He snarls silently in frustration as, once again, his body moves without thought. For the first time, though, Nanoni has him retreating; he has nothing to keep her knives from slicing into his skin.

He moves back with the grace a lifetime of dancing lends him, but not quickly enough to prevent a handful of shallow cuts on his arms, as Maluko’oi blocks Nanoni from gutting him like a fish. She’s furious, and the longer they fight, with Nanoni trying to duck under her husband’s guard, the sloppier her attacks become, until Mal grabs her wrist.

The follow-through action is to give her arm a cruel twist, force her to drop the knife and break her wrist. His breath catches - he won’t do it, he can’t, this is his wife -

He hesitates halfway through, just before Nanoni’s arm would snap, his grip on her arm tight as they stare at each other. Then Nanoni stabs him in the ribs.

Mal sucks in a sharp breath, but instead of letting go, backing away, he pushes forward. The pain in his side flares as Mal bulls Nanoni to the ground. He traps both her hands above her head, straddling her waist with his knees. Pinning both her wrists down with one hand, Mal reaches to his side, and pulls Nanoni’s knife from his ribs.

Pain swamps his mind. Under any other circumstances, even Maluko’oi would have been laid low by such a dumb stunt. Pele, how long will it take him to bleed out -

When his vision clears, Mal realizes he’s pressing the knife up against Nanoni’s throat. All the pain disappears, overwhelmed by a sheer, panicked abhorrence.

The part of him that’s been split and shoved aside screams and struggles for control, as futile as grabbing at sunlight on the waves. Nanoni bucks beneath him, and the knife slides against her skin, leaving behind a thin red cut along the side of her neck.

NO.

Maluko’oi freezes. He can’t make himself let go of Nanoni, let her up - but he forces his hand to stop, the knife’s edge resting against her skin. Nanoni stills, staring wide-eyed up at him.

A tear drops onto the bloodied steel of the knife, leaving behind a track against the red. Mal’s hand shakes, trying so hard to finish the job - but he refuses. The band around his neck burns, constricts until he can barely breathe. Through a haze of pain and tears, Mal sees his wife smile.

There’s a sting in the side of his neck.

Mal blinks and looks away from Nanoni, to see Sheisha plunge another handful of paper-thin needles into his arm.

They’re coated in enough sedative to drop an elephant; maybe even enough to drop Mal. He knows this, because he’s the one who prepares the sedative for her. His arm goes numb, his hold slackening on the knife and Nanoni’s wrists. She twists her hands free, grabs his shirt, and rolls them both over. He’s out before his head hits the ground.

Maluko’oi wakes up to a dim room, staring at the ceiling. His neck burns and his head pounds; he closes his eyes again. Aches and pains litter his body, but not even the stab wound in his ribs is bad enough for him to worry over right now. It will heal.

But what he’s done to his family -

He puts a hand over his face, gritting his teeth against a ragged breath and holding it in until he can trust himself not to sob. Someone shifts to his right, reaches out to touch his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

“Maluko’oi,” Nanoni says quietly. “Darling, you slept for far too long, I was so worried.”

When he doesn’t answer, Nanoni takes his wrist and gently tugs his hand away from his eyes. Mal knows he’s acting like a child, but he turns his head the other way, terrified that he isn’t strong enough to keep Redding’s filthy spell from controlling him again if he looks at Nanoni.

Her voice is a little sharper this time. “Mal, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen you cry before, love, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He attacked his wife. Mal attacked his wife, and his daughter, and he would have killed them. Nanoni’s hand slips into his own, and when he moves to sit up - his right arm and hand still feel a little lifeless - she’s there with an arm to brace his back.

He fumbles the blanket back with his numb, unfeeling hand, and slips the other out of Nanoni’s grip. Before she can protest, Mal slides out of the bed and straight to his knees onto the floor.

“Oh, Mal, what are you doing,” Nanoni sighs with impatience. “You should stay in bed -”

Mal hates talking, even more than he hates mages. His tongue is not silver; instead, it is a leaden weight inside his mouth, one that takes effort to move. But he can’t stay silent on this matter - and yet, his mind is completely blank. He clenches his fists on top of his knees, trying to force himself to speak.

All he says is the rote, “Nanoni, I am sorry. Please forgive me.”

Mal winces at how pathetic, how utterly inadequate the words are. He should be begging, but his mouth closes instead, and Mal stares at Nanoni’s feet, his mind completely blank of words, but his insides twisting with so much guilt and sorrow and fury at himself that he wants to heave.

Nanoni sighs, and then moves to her knees as well. Mal starts to look away, but she catches his face before he can, tips his gaze up from pointing at the floor. He freezes in panic when he sees her, his breath catching.

Nothing happens. Mal remains where he is, his hands gripping his knees so tightly that both ache, but his body is his own, and stays where it is. Nanoni brushes a hand over his tear-stained cheek, then wraps it gently around the back of his neck. Maluko’oi closes the distance, pressing his forehead and nose against hers and closing his eyes.

They breathe in each other’s air, and Maluko’oi feels himself relax. He can never tell if the overwhelming love he feels, mere seconds into their hongi, is his or Nanoni’s or both, but it soothes him for a moment, forms the base for what’s to come next.

Anger, sharp and hot, for what Redding had done to them, and guilt, for having to hurt each other. Mal puts a steadying hand on Nanoni’s waist, feels her take a shuddering breath, and knows that he’s not in much better shape. But there is no healing without pain, and so Mal lets himself feel it from Nanoni’s point of view, tears rolling down his cheeks.

And then he’s hit with a wave of comfort and forgiveness, so hard that he has to bite his tongue to stifle a sob. Mal’s first reflex is almost to break away - he hardly deserves this, he hurt her - but Nanoni’s hand on the back of his neck holds him in place, and then he realizes that these are Nanoni’s reactions as much as his.

An extended hongi is exhausting, but they ride it out together, and at the end of it, Mal feels - well, not good, but better. The pain is there, but dulled with understanding. Nanoni does not hate him.

She does not hate him.

They’re both crying when they break the hongi. Nanoni shifts angles and kisses him, deeply, before she pulls away.

“Oh, ipo, of course I forgive you,” she tells him, cupping his cheek in one hand. “How could you ever think otherwise?”

Mal gives her a slight grin, and then leans forward, kissing the tears off her cheeks until she lets out a surprised laugh.

“Get off the floor, Mal, I don’t know the last time it’s been vacuumed,” she tells him, taking him by the elbows. He obeys, and lets out a surprised hiss as the knife wound in his side stretches. Mal shakes his head at the sharp look she gives him, but he does not stop her as she lifts his shirt.

A neat patch of bandaging covers the wound. “We had a doctor put in stitches,” Nanoni says, pushing Mal gently back onto the bed. At his questioning look, she adds, “We’re still in town.”

A chair is next to the bed, and when Nanoni sits, she sits so close their knees are in between each other’s. Mal takes in the decades-old wallpaper and the tacky hotel furniture as she goes on, his hands in hers.

“Sheisha is fine,” she adds, addressing his concerns before he could give voice. “She’s sleeping in the other room. We called Keo and had him put you under a sleep spell, and then I went after Redding.”

Nanoni heaves a sigh. “He’s going to Ember Island, Mal. The royal investigators arrested him on the spot. I wanted to kill him - I would have, but…”

Her voice trails off, and Mal waits patiently for her to look up from tracing lines in his palm. “She has a concussion - oh, love, it isn’t a very bad one,” Nanoni adds, looking up as Mal winces. He looks down again. “She’ll be just fine with a little bit of rest. I left her with Keo, to watch over you, but then - but then she caught up.”

Pursing her lips, Nanoni stares off at some point in the wall over Mal’s shoulder. “She wouldn’t have stopped me. She would have done it herself, I think, but - well, that isn’t her place, is it?”

It isn’t Nanoni’s, either. Mal’s killed before, and he’s sure he will again; it isn’t a burden he wishes for either of them to carry.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, and brings her hand up to his lips. Nanoni smiles a weary smile.

“We can always get someone inside the prison to finish him off,” she decides, and Mal smiles against her knuckles. “Let me see the back of your neck, that spell of his left some nasty burns.”

Obediently, he leans forward, resting his head against Nanoni’s chest. The burns can’t be that nasty, if he hardly feels them; there’s a bit of renewed pain as Nanoni’s fingers skim over the reddened skin, but Mal can ignore that. It will heal.

He tries, again, for words. “Nanoni…”

“Darling, you don’t need to say anything. I know.”

“You don’t.” Maluko’oi catches her hand as it slips through his hair while he leans back. Nanoni did not bruise easily, and yet there they are, small dark fingerprints against her brown skin where he’d nearly snapped her arm in half. Tears prickle at his eyes again, and he curses himself softly. He’s acting like a child, crying at the slightest instigation. “You don’t, because I don’t say anything.”

Nanoni takes in a breath to speak, and then stops, gives him a patient look. Mal presses a kiss into the palm of her hand, trying to put his thoughts into an order that will come out as words. It takes far, far too long. Nanoni waits, patient for him when she isn’t for anyone else.

“You are,” he says slowly, looking down at their intertwined hands, “heart of my heart. I would have never - never hurt you.”

Except he did. He did, and it doesn’t matter that Redding had spelled him. Maluko’oi hadn’t been strong enough to stop himself.

“I just need you to know that,” he struggles to say, “there is nothing in me that - that has ever wanted to do you harm. To you, or Sheisha.”

“Mal, honey, I know,” Nanoni says, her words just as quiet and somber. “I never doubted otherwise.”

He lifts his gaze, but Mal’s eyes snag instead on a thin red line along the side of Nanoni’s neck, cleaned up and already starting to heal. Mal reaches up and skims his fingertips over it.

Nanoni sucks in a sharp breath, her hands in Mal’s lap squeezing into fists. He snatches his hand back like he’s been burned - or like he’s burned his wife - and looks away again, closing his eyes against a flood of tears.

“Mal -”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fighting every impulse to run.  Nanoni wraps her hands around each of his wrists, and he resists a little - only a little - as she tugs at them.

“Maluko’oi, look at me,” Nanoni says sternly. He obeys, out of habit, because he will do anything and everything she ever asks of him, even when his stomach churns, even when this is somehow the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Nanoni takes each of his hands and places them on either side of her neck. He stiffens, even though there is no reason to fear himself losing control again.

“Heart of my heart,” Nanoni tells him, “I trust you. I always will,  and nothing you could do will ever change that. “

She drops her hands and Mal just cradles her face for a moment. Nanoni gives out a small laugh.

“After such a pretty apology, I don’t know how to say sorry for being the one to do any permanent harm.” Her hand slips up under his shirt, skimming over the gauze taped to his ribs. Mal scoffs quietly.

“You didn’t have a choice, I was trying to kill you,” he reminds her. And it’s hardly permanent, anyway.

“No, you were trying to stop it,” Nanoni says instantly. “I could see it, love, anyone could.”

She leans in to give him another kiss. Mal moves his hands down to her waist, and Nanoni murmurs, “But if you ever hurt our daughter again, I’ll shoot you.”

Mal laughs, startled and pleased, and leans back onto the bed, tugging Nanoni with him.

“Dad!” Sheisha yelled from the airskiff. “Dad, they’ve got the rope -”

 Maluko’oi had already seen. With a grunt, he shoved aside the unfortunate soul he’d been pummeling, straight into Nanoni’s path; she’d take care of him. He barreled into the two men hauling at the rope to the skiff, trying to bring it in closer to the docks. One went straight off the edge with a yelp, grasping at thin air before he plummeted into the rough ocean far, far below them. The other kept his grip on the rope and swung around it to avoid Mal.

 He - She, Mal realized, now that they were close enough - yanked a pistol from her belt. The rope angled upwards between them, the only thing that tethered the little airskiff to the docks. Mal almost wished Sheisha would just cast off already - he and Nanoni would be able to catch up later. She knew how to fly a little boat like that, but Mal wasn’t so sure she could navigate without a GPS, and he doubted the moronic little prince they’d come here to rescue in the first place even knew his constellations.

 Mal ducked under the cable before the woman could properly aim her gun; behind him he could hear Nanoni swearing up a storm. He prayed she hadn’t been hurt as he slammed a fist - gleaming with a ridge of metal he’d slipped over his knuckles - into his opponent’s ribs.

 The soldier woman’s body armour was probably what kept her ribs from being broken. Even so, she reeled back, catching herself once again on the rope before she could slip off the edge of the docks. Her gun clattered to the dock; Maluko’oi ignored it as he pressed his advantage. He had to skip back, his shoulder catching against the airskiff’s tether, when she snapped a word and pulled a long knife - more like a sword - from seemingly thin air.

 Mages, Mal thought with disgust, as she swung the slightly transparent, neon green blade at him. He could hear Sheisha shouting above him from the skiff as Mal ducked aside, not quite quickly enough - the green knife sliced through his stolen uniform as if it simply didn’t exist, and left a burning line of pain down his arm.

 It was his turn to weave around the rope and away from the woman as she slashed at him. The rope bobbed alarmingly; he glanced up to see Shiesha half over the railing of the skiff, cursing like a sailor. Sorien kept pulling at her arm, keeping her from swarming down the cable to her parents’ assistance. Mal felt a brief, shameful flash of gratitude for the prince’s actions, and then he had to take a step back and to the side as the soldier he had been fighting slashed and hacked at him like she was cutting her way through a jungle.

 It was easy for him to dodge her - she clearly wasn’t used to fighting in close quarters - and they chased each other around the heavy cable keeping the skiff dockbound for several seconds, before Mal found an opening. He swung a heavy fist into her head, and she stumbled back, flailing -

 And cut right through the airskiff’s tether.

 A startled curse forced its way out of Mal’s mouth. He lunged for the rope, tripping over the unconscious woman’s body before he grabbed it with both hands. “Nanoni!”

 “Dad!” Sheisha shouted at the same time. Maluko’oi looked up at a high-pitched yelp; she had toppled over backwards on top of Sorien as a gust of wind caught at the skiff. It dragged Mal nearly a yard before he managed to brace his heels against the solid stone skydock. There was an knee-high post just outside of his reach; twisting the skiff’s rope around his arm, Mal reached over to grab onto the short chain hooked to the post, specifically there to keep airships tied down.

 Another stiff wind tugged at the skiff. Mal’s palms burned from the friction of the rope, being pulled through his fingers. The cable slackened suddenly, barely; Mal looked up to see two bright pink ribbons of magic stretched between the post he was hanging onto, and the railing of the skiff. The ribbons wrapped around both, and then on and around Sheisha’s wrists; she already looked wide-eyed with stress and fatigue. She’d never been that powerful a mage, but Mal was beyond grateful for even that much.

 He gave the rope one more enormous, painful heave. It was just enough for him to feed the cut end of the rope through a loop of metal on the post. He didn’t try to knot it - they just needed to keep the skiff there long enough for his wife to catch up.

 “Nanoni,” he called again, looking down the dock. His wife was fending off two more soldiers, ducking and weaving around them with ease. Mal had never seen anything more beautiful as she dropped one and tripped the other over their own fallen comrades. He knelt on the dock, keeping a firm hold on the rope so it didn’t slither free, and put his back to Nanoni as she dashed for them.

 He felt her weight on his back and shoulders for one brief, quick moment, as she used her husband as a springboard to launch herself at the rope attached to the skiff. Wet droplets hit Mal’s hands and the back of his neck; he opened his mouth as he looked down and saw blood spattered on his clothes. Before he could ask, Nanoni - who had already swarmed up the rope and was now hanging on the railing of the skiff - sang out, “It’s not mine, darling, don’t worry!”

 She flipped herself over easily enough, so Mal guessed that if she was hurt, it wasn’t seriously. “Get on!” Sheisha shouted, as Nanoni disappeared to take the helm of the skiff. Maluko’oi grabbed onto the rope above the post, letting it free from the post he’d wound it around. The skiff dragged him forward a few feet before he caught up, grabbing the cable with both hands. He jumped off the edge of the docks.

 Mal regretted his decision instantly. He hated flying even when onboard a very solid, stable airship: now, he dangled far above the ocean and a rocky shore, with nothing but a rope thinner than his (admittedly substantial) arm. It coiled around both his arms now, the end flapping over his shoulder. Swallowing back a terrible wave of vertigo, Mal started dragging himself upwards.

 “Pull him up!” Nanoni shouted, from somewhere unseen. She was likely shouting at Sorien, who was being as useless as ever, but Sheisha also reached over with the prince to grab at the rope Mal clung to. Yells came from the dock as the wind carried them up, and only a little further out - it was blowing parallel with the coastline right now. The exact opposite way they needed to go.

 Maluko’oi outweighed his daughter and the prince combined, and as much as he adored Sheisha, he doubted the two of them could help drag his bulk onto the skiff. He had just managed to brace his feet against the side of the skiff when there were gunshots behind him.

 Sheisha yelped and ducked underneath the railing. Sorien had been leaning over far too much; when he flinched at the bullets that slammed into the solid wood of the airskiff, he overbalanced and fell forward.

 Sheisha screamed the prince’s name, and Maluko’oi cursed it.

 He kicked off against the side of the airskiff, shoving himself sideways, reaching. He caught Sorien around the middle; the prince let out a sharp oof as he slammed into Mal’s solid arm. They both fell further down the rope, the cable hissing painfully against Mal’s skin as his grip slipped. A thick pink ribbon shot out and wrapped around Mal’s chest, and he managed to grab the rope again before they could crash into the waves far below.

 Sorien was freaking out. He clung to Maluko’oi’s shirt like a burr, whimpering, “Gods - oh my gods -” in the bigger man’s ear. Mal clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to drop him.

 “I got you!” Sheisha called down, but Maluko’oi would beg to differ; her ribbon was wrapped around the railing of the skiff to act as a pulley, and she was straining against it, but Mal knew she’d never be able to drag them both up.

 “Grab on,” Mal grunted at Sorien.

 “W-What? I am -”

 “I can’t climb with one hand!” Mal snarled at Sorien; his free arm was full of a shaking, terrified little brat. The prince finally seemed to figure it out. He wrapped his arms awkwardly around Mal’s neck, face pointed over the Kamean man’s shoulder. Mal finally had the freedom to grab onto the rope with his other hand - just in time. Sheisha’s ribbon disintegrated around him.

 “I’m sorry!” she called from above, tears running down her cheeks. “Let me - I’ll do it again -”

 Mal gave his head one sharp shake; they were still in too much trouble for her to wear herself out with her limited magic. The gunfire had paused when Sorien fell; now it resumed. Mal ignored the sharp, popping sounds as best as he could, but Sorien apparently had a perfect view of the soldiers firing at them from the docks.

 “They’re shooting at us!”

 “She can’t love your for your intelligence,” Mal muttered sarcastically, frustration and adrenaline making him much more talkative than normal. “Whatever she sees in you, it better make an appearance soon.”

 Sorien must not have heard him, or he knew well enough to not answer. Mal dragged the both of them up the rope, one hand at a time, planting his feet against the side of the small airship. They had maybe ten feet to go when one of the wildfire shots from below hit Mal in the back.

 He slipped again. The rope shredded the skin on his palms before he could regain his grip, but that was nothing compared to the sharp pain just below one shoulder. Sheisha was screaming something again, and now he vaguely heard Nanoni’s voice join hers - Mal took one shuddering, sobbing breath.

 “Are you hit?” Sorien asked shrilly. Mal just hung there, biting down on his tongue until blood filled his mouth. He knew he had to keep climbing, but it was all he could to just hang on where they were, bouncing on the side of the skiff as it jumped and jostled with every breath of wind. They must have finally hit a good breeze - it was carrying them away from the docks in a steady movement. Just seconds too late.

 Sorien was still talking. He talked way too much. Mal opened his mouth to tell the haole brat to shut up already, but let out a surprised, bloodied cough instead.

 The prince’s hands were pressed against his back, over the bullet wound, but instead of pain, Mal felt a cooling sensation. Something underneath his skin squirmed - an uncomfortable sensation that made him curse when it became sharp and painful. He realized a moment later that it was the bullet, working its way out of his body.

 Sorien was healing him. Mal swallowed down blood and bile, as the prince shouted in his ear again; the women on deck were also shouting. It was too much for Mal to process, so he tuned them all out, and started climbing again. The muscles in his back and arms screamed with pain every few inches he dragged himself, and Sorien, upwards. Every movement took an eternity.

 When Mal felt Sorien’s weight slipping off him, he froze, certain that the prince was going to fall after all, and Sheisha would be heart-broken - but then he looked up to see Nanoni pulling Sorien over the rail of the skiff. Sorien had to plant a foot on Mal’s shoulder to shove himself the rest of the way over, and Mal, involuntarily, let out a low, pained cry.

 “Mal - Maluko’oi, please, you’re so close, you can do it, darling,” Nanoni begged him, reaching over the edge to grab his arm. It took all three of them to finally pull Mal over the side, and the skiff was finally in its rightful place - underneath him, instead of above.

 Nanoni promptly kissed him, which Mal didn’t mind one bit, even while he felt blood still dripping out of the half-healed bullet wound.

 “I - I wasn’t finished healing him,” Sorien protested distantly. Nanoni broke away, as if to let Sorien finished, but Mal shot the prince a dark look and pulled his wife closer.

“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing at the doors. They were a massive, heavy pair of carved wooden slabs, but despite the decreased activity around the cathedral in recent decades, they had opened easily for Sheisha and K’lohei, and he supposed they’d do the same for these people. K’lohei rubbed a thumb along a circular tattoo on his arm, one of several similar, simpler patterns that gleamed a bright, pale blue on his brown skin. He mentally flicked the spell up against the doors, and a bright blue, semitransparent barrier appeared, holding the doors closed. K’lohei took a moment to anchor the spell to the stone floor and walls, before turning to see Sheisha still prying precious stones out of a false god’s altar.

“Sheisha,” he groaned, and she shot him a dirty glare.

“This one’s stuck,” she complained. There was a thud on the other side of the doors, held shut by K’lohei’s spell. Hissing between his teeth, he stepped back and stared very hard at the front quarter of the cathedral, memorizing the scene, and trying to remember what the altar had looked like with all of its stones, and then mentally subtracting Sheisha from the background.

He only had one illusion spell; he’d gotten rid of the others to make room for his shields. Incantations were not required at all for inkmagic, but K’lohei muttered them under his breath anyway as he activated a spell on his shoulder. He couldn’t afford to mess this one up, and the chanting helped him focus anyway. Light trailed his fingers as he gestured through the air, just as unnecessarily as he chanted.

By the time his shield against the doors shattered from the impact of another mage’s spell, the altar end of the cathedral was hidden behind an illusion that made it look just as it had before, hiding Sheisha from view as she hurried to finish up her job. He didn’t to tell her to keep quiet; he just hoped that he could make enough noise himself to prevent the newcomers from hearing her work.

He turned as the blue shield dissipated into nothing, with a crackling noise like the tail end of a firework. A corresponding pain slashed through his arm, but he just gritted his teeth through it. At least that spell wasn’t leaking ink all over his new orange sleeveless shirt.

The doors slammed open a second later, the far sides looking a little blackened and burned as three people strode through. The first had green fire flickering around his hands, and he looked furious. K’lohei didn’t know much about religions outside of Kamea in general, and even less about fake Lyanni religions, but judging by the fairly generic white and red robes the fire-fisted man wore, K’lohei was willing to bet he was some kind of priest.

The other two people, a man and a woman that were nearly indistinguishable from each other under some kind of black security uniform, carried more conventional weapons - guns, and he was willing to bet that the batons hanging from their belts were electric.

K’lohei promptly put up his hands.

The priest barked something at him, presumably in whatever language the now-tiny country of Linyan chose as their national tongue. K’lohei didn’t need to fake his incomprehension, and he took a couple steps backwards as the three people bore down on him.

“Who are you?” demanded the Lyanni woman, in surprisingly fluent, albeit heavily accented, Kamean. K’lohei blinked at her in surprise, and then gave them all an easy grin, and bobbed his head to the lady.

“Just a tourist,” he said, and stopped moving backwards. The cathedral was vast enough that there was plenty of room between Sheisha and the three interlopers; he was midway between them all, and hoped Sheisha had some kind of escape plan in mind. “What, uh, what’s with all the guns?”

“You’re trespassing,” the woman snapped, and at K’lohei’s question, she dropped a hand onto the gun in question. He kept the anxious smile on his face.

“No, the - the sign said it was open for visitors until six -”

“It’s seven-thirty,” the woman said flatly. K’lohei pretended he didn’t know that and angled his wrist to glance at his watch.

“Oh, auwe, is it really?” he wondered. “Time difference. I forgot to set my watch, ha -”

The priest interrupted with an angry comment, and the woman translated for him, “You magicked the doors.”

K’lohei looked blank. “I - what? No, I wouldn’t do that. This is a church, isn’t it?”

There was a short pause as the woman and the priest murmured back and forth. She sounded uncertain, but then the male guard, hanging behind the other two, interjected a derisive comment. The lady sighed.

“We know who you are,” she told K’lohei. “We were told two Kamean thieves would try to rob the cathedral.”

K’lohei was not a good enough actor to talk off the accusation. “Aw, crap,” he said, dropping his hands. “They sold us out.”

He slipped one hand under the edge of his shirt. The priest, who had never doused the green flames engulfing his hands, let out a shout and flung a globe of fire at K’lohei.

It hit a brilliant blue shield, one that arced from the floor to just over K’lohei’s head, and was wide enough to reach the pews on either side of the aisle. The altar was centered; he hoped it would be enough to keep Sheisha from getting caught in any of the crossfire. 

As the priest wound up for another throw, and the two guards drew their guns, K’lohei scratched his fingers across the extensive inkspell tattooed on his stomach. Unlike the others, this didn’t burn, but fizzed instead. It was a rather comfortable feeling as his ‘aumakua slipped into being.

In between the time the second fireball hit his shield, and the first bullet slammed into it a second later, his ‘aumakua had gone from the size of a small cat to a very, very large dog.

It walked through his shield as if the barrier didn’t exist, despite looking a little battered from fire and bullets. The ‘aumakua, in the form of a skyherder and the same aquamarine color of K’lohei’s shield, reared back up on its hind legs and bared its teeth in a silent snarl. Four wings flared out from its back, and a long, thick tail whipped against the shield before it barreled forward.

It was a long, lithe creature, something like an otter or a weasel, but with long, long ears. Skyherders were incredibly rare, and generally pacifists; however, the one K’lohei had summoned had absolutely no compunctions about lunging for the man with the gun.

He shouted what K’lohei assumed were swear words, slamming the ‘aumakua with bullets. They stuck in the semiopaque creature like its was made of ballistics jelly, and in a second, the man went down underneath the ‘aumakua’s weight. The woman, who had been more reluctant that her companions to engage, yelled and went to help her fellow guard.

The priest was forming a new spell.

K’lohei clenched his jaw and pushed forward, the shield moving with each step. He took three before a sharp, green light lanced from the priest and smashed into his shield spell. It shattered.

Shields had always been K’lohei’s specialty. He had one for car crashes, for weather, for fistfights and shootouts and remotely protecting royals (and thieves). They were generally a single-step affair: you made a shield and it held until it was broken or dismissed.

This one was a little more complex.

It was faceted, rather than the usual smooth shell most mages used, and when the priest’s spell slammed into it, the impact broke the entire thing into small, diamond-shaped shards. K’lohei hadn’t gotten a chance to try this one out under stress; he almost lost his grip on it, and was forced to dismiss the illusion spell, and then his ‘aumakua. The pieces of the shield that had been hit by the priest’s green light dissipated into nothing, but that still left K’lohei with tens of shards that glistened in the air.

It was K’lohei’s turn to go on the offensive.

He mentally collected a group of the shards and, with a wave of his hand, threw them at the priest. The robed man had to drop whatever spell he was preparing next and throw himself into the pews. A few shards tore through his clothes; K’lohei thought he saw a little bit of blood before the pieces of his former shield smashed into nothing against the stone floor and wooden pews.

A bullet zipped past his ear, shattering a couple shards along the way. K’lohei swore and ducked instinctively; his lapse of concentration resulted in a few more of the shield pieces disappearing into thin air. The woman stood over her fellow guard, and she shot at him again as K’lohei retreated. He collected a few more shards in front of them; they barely deflected the bullet off to the side. He grabbed the rest and sped them at the woman, just as someone behind him shouted, “Boost!”

He dropped to one knee, hearing rapid footsteps behind him. Sheisha hopped up onto his back a moment later, using him for a springboard to launch herself into the air.

He got shot a split second later.

K’lohei spilled backwards with a yelp; he heard the woman screech and two people hit the floor. Another bullet ricocheted off the floor near his hand as he pushed himself back up, blood pouring from his arm. He hissed between his teeth, tears running down his cheeks. Sheisha was going toe-to-toe with the male guard; the woman was stretched out on the floor with a handful of thin, long needles prickled from her arm. Sheisha usually coated those with a sedative.