Page 20 of Bound and Tide

He signed away a promise for the gold after handing over almost all he was carrying, and then he practically skipped out to the docks, charter for the Frost’s Plunder tucked into his coat.

“Are you mad?” Maia called after into the salty evening air.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of demons.” He wound along the dock, the sounds of those toiling on the wharf falling away behind them. “Didn’t your father ever tell you stories?”

“He’s not really the story-telling type.”

Xander was unsurprised, but continued to lead them down the edge of the river until they reached the empty docks that had fallen into disrepair and the lone vessel abandoned amongst them. The bow cut into the water with a sharpness, arcana running over the wood to strengthen it, but that arcana had attracted something else too. Even in his questionable state, Xander could feel its wobbly aura seeping out through every plank. His lips curled upward. Finally, a little fucking fun.

Climbing aboard, Xander’s stomach pitched as his balance was questioned on the deck; however, arcana steadied him as he raised a hand to let that eerie mist slip between his fingers. The magical fog was mostly for show, but it had a spine-tickling essence to it that felt sinister and hungry. It was no wonder humans were so disturbed by the ship.

Maia stood a few paces off atop the railing, squinting at the deck below like it might gobble her up if she jumped down. She could likely manipulate this arcana as it was water-based, but she looked as if she’d rather punch her way through. Costa loomed close behind, only halfway up the ship’s ladder, much more leery. If those carvings at their home were his doing and as arcane as Xander believed, he could likely do even more damage, he would just need to grow a spine first.

The world beyond the railings was blotted out by more thickly curling fog as Xander strode down the length of the ship’s deck. “Oh, pulling out the big spells, hmm?” he murmured as eager noxscura bit at his palm, tasting something familiar in the humid air. “Be on guard for—ah, what are you doing?”

Maia and Costa had suddenly appeared at his back, silently taking up the space that should have never been filled by anyone he wasn’t planning on letting stab him. Neither answered, eyes wide and searching the slick planks and swaying ropes. At least they were paying attention.

A steep ladder led beneath deck, and Xander hesitated though the noxscura drew him to it. The access hole was narrow, and terror struck him like an arrow.

Coward.

He focused on the faint blue light that emanated from below—not completely dark—and the fact that a ship needed much more space to hold things than a wardrobe required. He mentally snapped off the terror-arrow’s head and ripped it out by the fletching. Noxscura would mend that—it always did, one way or another.

The ship groaned when Xander alighted the first rung, and then so did the children. “Come with or not,” he drolled as if he had not just had his own panic, “but you’ll be up here alone if you stay.”

They were too frightened to realize they would actually be together, and it would be Xander left alone in the darkness below, a thing the blood mage was eager to offset.

In the ship’s hull, the air was even thicker with saltiness and arcana both. The vessel had been made to hold onto magic, Xander could feel as much when he touched any part of it. Coupled with its purpose to barrel through ice and destroy, the whole structure lent itself easily to possession if not properly cared for. Someone on board had done something wicked, and Xander’s nose wrinkled at what could happen in such an isolated space out in open water. He adored a good wicked deed, of course, but the hull reeked of bad ones.

Whispers found their way through the heavy air, another illusion meant to dig into one’s thoughts and terrify the listener. Threats of beatings and abandonment hammered into the back of Xander’s skull. He wriggled a finger into his ear, and the noxscura slithered into his brain to wrap around the whispers until they were nothing but a magic-laden buzz.

“It wants to eat our hands,” Costa choked out, and Maia groused warily in response.

Xander moved forward into the darkened space. “Only if you let it,” he muttered, sure that if he asked, neither could identify what the it they spoke of was. The weakest nasties functioned best when hiding their true identities: all swagger, no substance.

He pushed a hanging canvas out of the way to spy a stack of empty crates, and the stench of rot filled his nostrils. Another illusion, mostly. Moisture clung to the hull’s wood, chilled but not frozen when he pressed his hand to it. In fact, it was far from petrified, undulating with arcana. He closed his eyes, and his noxscura mingled with the condensation, twisting around the unseen streams that traveled through the wood. The magics circled one another like hounds, each sensing the familiarity in the other. The boatsman was wrong, there were no demons here, but there was something infernal.

Xander dragged fingers over the old wood as he stepped deeper into the dimly lit cargo area, his mind rocking inside his head all too pleasantly. The soothing sensation was a familiar if distant one from the time before when Birzuma had been captured. Back then, he’d detested the new arcana that pushed its way into his veins because it was weak, nowhere near as destructive as fire or as domineering as shadows.

Water is life-giving, a voice scoffed, and he didn’t know whether it was the infernal illusions or not. Pointless, just like that other half of you.

Xander slapped his hand flat against the hull, and his noxscura lashed out, fangs bared—he would not be tricked like a stupid, trusting child. The water receded, and for a moment he thought the infernal creature had run off, proverbial tail between legs, until the entire ship shuddered.

Costa and Maia shrieked as the cargo space erupted with splintering wood. Thin, frigid sprays pelted them, skin burning under the pressure and cold. Xander swore and called up every shadow in the hull. At least the ship wasn’t actually leaking, this was just another boisterous spectacle to chase them off. Arcane darkness swirled around him, cutting off the searing streams of water and revealing something scurrying along the hull walls. Multiple somethings.

Xander growled, indignant and tired, and his shadows struck out again with a force he wasn’t expecting. There was a screech, but he’d not caught any of the small slippery things causing the ruckus. A glimmer of silvery magic lit up a corner, and Xander’s own reached out, catching, squeezing. “There you are,” he bit out as the shadows did the heaviest lifting, and he willed more to do the same. The next yelp, however, was human.

Maia was on her ass, and then she was gone, followed swiftly by Costa, dragged into Xander’s shadows. He rolled his eyes at their weakness, captured by whatever base beast was haunting the ship, and then he straightened.

Had…had he done that?

He turned his palms up, and noxscura was frantically pouring out of him. Shrieks rose out of the ever-growing shadows, and he could sense the blood coursing through four terrified and trapped bodies. The humans were easily identified, their blood racing with fear and so distinct from the infernal, but when he tried to release them, the shadows only tightened.

“What are you bloody doing?” he hissed, cutting through the air, but the shadows remained. He slapped his hands together then shook his arms hard, but nothing changed.

This is what happens when you are weak.

A jab at Xander’s back made him stumble forward. He spun, but there was only a pulsing darkness there. Again, his shoulder was shoved, and again he turned only to be faced with his own arcana playing some childish game with him.

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