Page 51 of The Blind Hordesman

“Pussy.”

Dad stands, and I hear thetilhit the sand.

I leap up, unsnap mytil, and run after him, ducking, as I know he’ll throw a boot at my head, duck again for the second boot, then hear them both land on the beach. In our family, swimming is never for leisure. Going for a swim means competing to see who is going to swim faster and better and then returning without drowning. Mom was a swimmer, and swimming isn’t for fun. It’s a competitive sport, and Dad’s got the lead.

He also cheats, hits, and maims, so as I dive into the water, I don’t get too close to him. Regha males run cold, but this cold makes my balls hurt. To warm up and win, I work my arms as fast as I can, noting my right bicep is cramping as I race. I keep my ear and my Seer Sense attuned to Dad ahead of me. As I approach him, I dunk and swim underwater, hearing him splashing above. My left arm cramps and my muscles tighten. I move the rest of my body. Sure enough, my right arm cramps, announcing transition. Dad’s so far out, there’s no way I can catch up, but I’m no quitter. I paddle with my legs and come up for air.

“Loser,” he shouts.

I dive underwater.

Down here, it’s blissfully quiet. Fish breeze through the water, sometimes brushing my leg as I try to find the bottom. Even this close to the shore, the water’s deep and extremely cold. Near the bottom, I linger a bit longer just to quiet my mind. People make a lot of noise, and dark quiet spaces don’t scare me.

Movement tingles over my skin.

A big fish swam past me.

Maybe a predator? I extend my senses, listen, and feel for it.

Another vibration brushes my body. At the same place.

Then another and another.

I start counting.

Ten seconds between vibrations.

Sharks or wildlife in general aren’t this precise.

Dad’s swimming back, and I come up for air, then again listen, feel, focus on that vibration that keeps hitting my body. “Dad, any boats around?”

“Nah, nothing out here. This land is beautiful. Cold, untamed, breathtaking.”

“You a poet now?”

“Yes, loser, I’m fuckingpoeting. Why did you stop swimming?”

“My arms gave out.”

“Wanna climb on my back?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” He races back, but I don’t follow. I swim out a bit deeper, dive under as far as my legs will take me, keep counting, and sure enough, I feel something down here. I contemplate swimming farther and deeper toward the source, but with both arms cramped, the transition could render me immobile any second now. Besides, Dad would have to rescue me, and I’d never hear the end of it. I kick my legs, noting cramps seizing my chest, belly, and neck. At the shore, I barely stand and walk over the sand, toward the housing.

Dad catches up to me. “Transition is on, boy. You’re walking like you got a stick up your ass.”

“Thank you, Dad. Don’t fuck with me while I’m down.”

“I won’t.”

Lies.

“Dreikx,” I call.

“I don’t see him.”

“Bring him to me.”

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