Page 7 of The Ascended
The net finally cleared the water, fish cascading onto the deck. The men looked pleased.
"Good day's work," Jorik said, surveying our catch. "You did well, Thais. Most landlubbers can't handle a full day like this."
The compliment warmed me despite my worry. "It was good to get out on the water," I replied. "Thanks for letting me join the crew."
The harbor buzzed as we tied up at the docks. The priests had indeed arrived, and they'd brought enough attendants to fill the village.
"Thais!" Lira, the village healer, approached with a confident stride, gray-streaked hair braided with small shells. She'd tended every scraped knee and fever in Saltcrest for as long as I could remember.
"Lira," I said, curiosity replacing my unease. "What brings you to the docks? Someone need patching up?"
She laughed, the sound rich and infectious. "Just keeping an eye on our illustrious visitors. Making sure they don't frighten the children too badly." Her expression grew more serious as she glanced toward the priest ships. "They're asking questions, Thais. More than usual."
"Have they..." I swallowed hard. "Have they mentioned anyone specifically?"
Lira's weathered hand found my arm,. "No names yet. But they seem particularly interested in young people. Anyone between twenty and thirty." Her eyes, sharp despite her years, held mine. "Be careful, child. Both of you."
Lira had never asked for details, but she'd been present at our birth—one of the few who'd witnessed our mother's final moments. She'd helped Sulien through those first terrible weeks when we were too small, too fragile, and he was too broken by grief to care properly for us. If anyone suspected anything, it would be her. But she’d never asked.
"We will," I promised, the words feeling inadequate against the scope of the threat.
Lira squeezed my arm once more, then moved away. But her warning echoed in my mind as I shouldered my share of the day's earnings and headed home through the village streets.
I passed the temple on the hill and saw a cluster of figures in pristine white robes speaking with Elder Keth. Even at a distance, they carried themselves with the bearing of those who served the divine realm, Voldaris.
One of them looked up as I passed, and our eyes met across the distance. For a heartbeat, I felt naked—like those vacant eyes could see straight through to the secret burning in my chest. Then the moment passed, the priest turned back to his conversation, and I hurried away on unsteady legs.
Calm down,I told myself.He can't read your mind.
But my hands were shaking as I quickened my pace.
By the time I reached the cottage, Thatcher was sprawled in his usual chair by the fire, whittling a piece of driftwood.
"Let me guess—you beat all the fishermen at their own game and they're still trying to figure out how."
"Something like that." I sank into the chair across from him, accepting the cup of tea Sulien brought from the kitchen.
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the evening routine settling around us. Sulien read from an old book, Thatcher continued his whittling, and I let the day's tension ease from my shoulders.
"Early night for me," I announced after finishing my tea, standing and stretching. "Tomorrow's another long day on the water if Jorik will have me back."
"He'd be a fool not to," Thatcher said, not looking up from his carving. "You made him more coin today than his usual crew manages in a week."
I moved toward my room. "Don't wait up if I'm late tomorrow night. I might stop by the tavern after work. It’s Jorik’s birthday and if I’m out on the water with them all day, they’re going to expect me to join in on the festivities after."
"Thais." Sulien's voice stopped me cold. There was a warning inhis tone I hadn't heard in years—the same authority he'd used when we were children and had pushed too far. "Maybe that's not the best idea right now."
I turned back, eyebrows raised. "What, having a drink? Since when do you care if I go to the tavern?"
"Since you seem to think it's a good idea to drink yourself senseless when you need to be most careful." Sulien set his book aside, his weathered face serious. The years of hauling nets and working the oyster beds had left their mark on him—shoulders permanently stooped from decades of bent labor, hands gnarled and scarred from countless cuts from shells and ropes. His hair had gone completely gray, and the lines around his pale blue eyes spoke of too many years squinting against sun and salt spray.
"Oh, come on." I laughed, but it sounded forced even to my ears. "I can handle my ale just fine. I'm not going to do anything stupid."
Sulien stood slowly, his joints protesting after a long day's work. When he straightened, he seemed taller, more imposing than the gentle man who'd raised us. "Alcohol doesn't make you more careful, Thais. It makes you careless. And careless is the one thing you can't afford to be."
"I'm not going to lose control over a few drinks?—"
"That power of yours is getting stronger. I see you rubbing your hands sometimes, like they're burning. You disappear at night more often than you used to." He stepped closer, his pale eyes boring into mine. "What happens when you're drunk at the tavern and someone says something that angers you? What happens when you lose your temper and those stars start pouring out of your hands?"
