Chapter 12: Emily and the Confrontation

Emily woke slowly to the rhythmic sigh of the waves. The sun was already high on the horizon, warming the sand beneath her, though the sea breeze still carried a refreshing coolness. She stretched, feeling a satisfying ache in muscles pushed to their limit the previous day. Her body, adorned by little more than sand, tingled with nervous energy, anticipating the sunset meeting.

Dorian was already awake, sitting cross-legged near the smoldering remains of last night’s fire, meticulously arranging seashells and dried seaweed stalks into complex, spiraling patterns in the sand, his brow was furrowed in concentration, though that didn’t prevent him from sneaking a few glances in Emily’s direction.

“Morning,” Emily murmured, trying to remain casual as she reversed a stretch that was clearly requiring all of his willpower to look away from. “Any sign of...”

“No pirates,” Dorian confirmed, his gaze sweeping the empty horizon before returning to his patterns. “Or monks.”

Emily stood and demurely walked to the water’s edge. The turquoise waves looked deceptively calm this morning, sparkling under the bright sun. Scanning the cliffs above, she could make out a few of the foot and hand holds she’d carved out of it. She dipped a toe in the water, shuddering at its cool touch.

“I have further preparations to make at the meeting site,” Dorian said, his eyes mostly on the back of her head. “Thought I’d relight the Stoneshell fire while I’m there, so you can teleport to it. If you can light up this branch for me, I’ll carry it up.”

“Shouldn’t I come too?” Emily asked, looking over her shoulder at Dorian, who was holding up a massive dead branch.

Dorian shook his head. “There’s no sense in both of us climbing when you just can teleport up once I light the fire. Besides, you need to rest today. Better to rest here, in privacy, than under the hot sun on the clifftop, constantly watching for monks.”

Emily had to agree. The cove was pleasant, with its freshwater seep and plenty of shady spots to rest in.

“Once I’ve made the preparations, there will be very little I can do during our meeting. It’ll be your magic against Richard’s.” Dorian didn’t quite make eye contact as he said this, as though he was ashamed of some admission of weakness.

Emily considered for a moment. “You’re right,” she said, summoning a fireball in her palm. “Heads up!”

The fireball shot out to Dorian’s side, and he reached out to catch it with the length of wood. It ignited with an enormous whoosh. Dorian held it away, turning his head to avoid the sparks.

“Nice catch,” Emily giggled.

Dorian saluted her with his free hand, before turning to scoop up his spellbreaking detritus. Emily spied a few small scraps of blue fabric among the shells and seaweed stalks and noticed that his loincloth was looking somewhat more threadbare this morning. It wasn’t fair, how little fabric men needed to cover up the essentials.

“Tea’s brewing,” Dorian said, pointing at the contraption he’d rigged up to hold Emily’s cup over the campfire. “Give me about an hour, then test whether you can teleport to the clifftop.”

Emily nodded, though she didn’t have a watch. Everyone in Thessolan seemed able to tell the time almost to the minute just by looking at the position of the sun, but it wasn’t a skill she’d yet perfected.

Dorian waved and began his ascent, going slowly and keeping the Stoneshell flame aloft. Emily watched him until he was out of sight, then turned back to the ocean. She wondered where Caelum had gotten to.

As she watched the waves, a dark speck appeared further out, bobbing on the waves. A small boat, a simple fishing vessel with a single patched sail, was making its way slowly parallel to the coast. The shape of a person in the vessel was visible, but too far for Emily to make out in any detail. Hopefully, that meant they couldn’t see Emily either.

Emily’s dread of the approaching sunset encounter was made worse by the seeming inevitability that she’d be naked for it. If she spent the whole day gathering seaweed, she might be able to coax it into slimy and unstable coverings, but that would be destroyed as soon as she teleported, a power she would almost certainly use. Survival trumped modesty, especially given how poorly she’d been able to protect her modesty thus far. “It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” she told herself, though that hardly made her feel better.

Out in the ocean, the fishing boat seemed to be rocking more than usual, the water around it churning unnaturally. It was not a storm swell, but a violent, localized disturbance, as if the sea had hiccuped. A whirlpool, small but vicious, seemed to open beneath the vessel.

Emily watched in horror as the boat tilted sharply, spun once, and then, with horrifying speed, was sucked beneath the waves. A piercing cry broke out through the still morning air.

A golden head bobbed to the surface where the boat had been, arms flailing wildly.

There was no conscious decision. Emily reacted purely on instinct, sprinting into the surf. She was a strong swimmer, and with the Stoneshell, had no fear of drowning. That was likely not the case for the person flailing in the wake of their capsized vessel.

Emily dove through the first line of breakers, the icy shock stealing her breath for only a moment before the Stoneshell kicked in and water filled her lungs like air.

The water was chaotic, pulling her in unexpected directions. The undertow felt wrong, erratic, not the steady pull of a natural tide but the frantic tugging of disrupted magic. She forced herself forward, powerful strokes cutting through the chop.

She dove deeper, the world shifting to muted blues and greens, the roar of the surface replaced by a muffled underwater thrum. She could see the struggling figure more clearly now—it was a woman, close to her own age, perhaps slightly younger, caught in the grip of the same vicious current that had sunk her boat. She had long blonde hair and wore a simple peasant’s dress.

Emily surfaced near the girl, gasping, “Hold on! I’m here to help!”

The girl choked on seawater, her eyes wide with terror. Emily grabbed her arm. She seemed unaware of her savior, panicked and thrashing as if Emily was a malevolent force trying to drag her down rather than save her. “Calm down!” Emily shouted, trying to get a secure grip. “Breathe! I’ve got you!”

Fighting the relentless, unnatural current felt like swimming through invisible ropes. It pulled them sideways, then tried to suck them under. Emily kicked hard, towing the terrified girl, whose struggles were lessening now, replaced by a worrying limpness.

Though Emily could swim well on her own, she had never been a lifeguard, or needed to pull another person through the water. The girl seemed to be losing consciousness, becoming more of a dead weight by the second.

Throwing fireballs around wasn’t going to help anyone, so Emily focused on the Bronzeband. Could she use its power to move the seabed? She’d only tried to manipulate stone and rock before, but was that really the limit of the Bronzeband’s powers?

Emily stuck her head under the churning water and saw whirlwinds of swirling sand. She focused her will, picturing the grains of sand coming closer together, compacting, forming a shield behind her and the drowning girl.

It was a clumsy, desperate attempt, but before her eyes, the swirl of sand slowed and appeared to solidify, calming the waves just enough for her to pull the girl’s head above water and keep it there.

Kicking with a sudden burst of strength, she finally felt the shallower slope beneath her feet. She dragged the girl forward until they could stand, waist-deep in the churning surf. To her relief, the girl managed to keep her footing. Emily wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her from the water.

Both of them collapsed on the sand, the girl coughing up seawater. Emily’s own breath came in ragged gasps, her adrenaline fading to reveal deep fatigue. She’d done it—she’d saved the girl. In the water, without a single fireball, using the Bronzeband to control sand.

Down the beach, splintered pieces of wood that had once been the girl’s boat washed ashore. Emily remembered Caelum’s words about the sudden change in the waters. That whirlpool must have been a manifestation of the chaos that the Azure Sphere had held at bay. A knot of worry tightened in Emily’s stomach. Richard’s desperation for the Bronzeband was throwing this entire coast into chaos.

“Th-thank you,” stammered the girl, once her coughing had subsided. She pushed wet blonde hair from her face. “You saved my life.”

Emily managed a shaky smile, pulling herself into a sitting position. “Glad I could help,” she managed, her voice hoarse. The girl mirrored her, unconsciously tugging at the hem of her soaked, simple dress, and a pang of envy, sharp and unexpected, lanced through Emily.

“The sea’s gone mad,” the girl whispered, staring out at the deceptively calm waves. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Mama warned me, she said she saw omens, but we’d been fighting so I went out anyway.” Her face crumpled. “If you hadn’t been here ... I would have ... I would have ... ah!”

The fragile control broke, and the girl dissolved into anguished wailing, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry Mama! I should have listened! The boat is lost! How will we catch fish? My brother was right, girls can’t handle the sea!”

Emily flinched inwardly. Comforting crying strangers wasn’t exactly her forte. She awkwardly patted the girl’s trembling shoulder. “There, there,” she murmured, feeling hopelessly inadequate. Her own problems—the impending confrontation, the impossible choice about the Bronzeband, her own constant, humiliating nudity—felt miles away yet simultaneously pressed in on her. This girl’s pain was immediate, tangible.

“It’s not your fault,” Emily said, trying for a firmer tone, needing to ground herself as much as the girl. “The magic here ... it’s disrupted. Because the Azure Sphere from the Abbey was stolen. No one could have avoided that whirlpool, man or woman.”

The girl’s head lifted, tears streaking her face, confusion replacing some of the raw grief. “The ... Azure Sphere?” she asked, voice trembling. “It’s ... gone?”

Emily nodded gravely. “I was there right after it happened. The Abbey dome collapsed.”

“Are you ... are you one of the monks?” the girl asked, a flicker of suspicion in her tear-filled eyes.

“No,” Emily said. “Just a ... visitor.”

“Oh good, I hate monks! Everyone around here does. Always doing crazy magic, messing around with the natural order! And they act as if they invented the Azure Sphere as if it wasn’t here long before their abbey was founded, doing just fine before they built that silly dome to ‘protect’ it. Fat lot of good that’s done!” She glared fiercely over her shoulder towards the unseen Abbey.

Her sudden vehemence startled Emily, though she was no fan of the Tiedavon monks either.

“Anyway, you don’t sound like you’re from around here,” she continued. “But if you’re not a monk, then you’re a most welcome visitor! I’m Octavia.”

“Emily.” She stood, sand clinging to her skin, and offered a hand to help Octavia up.

“Thank you for rescuing me, Emily.” Octavia took her hand, her grip surprisingly firm despite her trembling legs. “I am forever in your debt. Perhaps ... perhaps you would accept an invitation to dine in my home. It is not much, but it is all I can offer.”

Emily’s stomach, silent during the crisis, suddenly rumbled loud enough for both of them to hear. Food. Real food, not just roasted tubers scavenged by Dorian. The thought was incredibly appealing. “I would love to,” she said, meaning it more than Octavia could know.

Octavia clapped her hands in delight. “Wonderful! Go put on your clothes and we’ll away!”

Clothes. Right. Emily was naked. Octavia must have assumed that she had tossed off her clothes before diving into the water to rescue her. Why would she think anything else? Emily smiled awkwardly, trying to think up an explanation. “Uh, well, that’s, um, actually, the thing is,” Emily stammered, heat flooding her cheeks. Her mind scrambled for a plausible, non-magical explanation that didn’t sound completely insane. “I, uh, don’t really have anything to wear right now.”

Octavia’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding her face. “Were you robbed?” Her eyes swept over Emily, taking in the Stoneshell and Bronzeband. “No, you still have your jewelry ... Was it...? Were you ... attacked?” Her voice dropped, filled with horrified concern.

“Oh, no, nothing like that!” Emily rushed to reassure her, waving her hands dismissively. The thought was appalling. “It’s complicated. I just ... lost my clothes.” How utterly lame did that sound?

Octavia tilted her head. “So ... you’ve just been wandering around this beach ... with no clothes on?”

“Um, I guess, yeah. Didn’t really have another choice.”

A look of sympathetic understanding, mixed perhaps with pity, dawned on Octavia’s face. “Well,” she said slowly, plucking thoughtfully at the wet fabric of her own dress. “I suppose that’s all the more reason for you to come back to the village with me. I can certainly spare another dress for the woman who pulled me out of the sea.”

Relief washed over Emily. “That would be ... amazing,” she breathed. “Thank you, Octavia.” Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to face Richard completely bare after all. The thought alone eased a knot of tension she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Come then,” Octavia said, already leading the way along the edge of the beach, away from the secluded cove and towards a worn path that skirted the base of the cliffs. “Our village, Port Azurea, isn’t far. Just around this headland.”

The path was sandy but firm, easier footing than the treacherous descent Dorian had led her down. Octavia, despite her ordeal, moved with the practiced ease of someone who walked this way daily. Emily followed, appreciating the simple act of walking on solid ground without needing to constantly assess handholds or worry about falling debris. The sun felt warm on her back and the sand soft under her toes.

At one point, Octavia stopped suddenly. Emily stopped behind her, just short of a collision. The girl’s mouth was a hard line as she looked up at seagulls circling the sky. “That’s not right,” she said, pointing at the birds. “They’ve been flying in the same tight circle since last night. I should have taken it as the omen it was.”

They could do nothing to help the birds and so continued on. As they rounded the headland, a cluster of small dwellings came into view, nestled in a slightly wider bay. Port Azurea was simple: perhaps two dozen huts constructed from weathered driftwood, stones, and daub, roofed with thick layers of dried reeds. Fishing nets were draped over racks to dry, and overturned coracles lay scattered on the shingle above the high-tide line. The air smelled strongly of fish, salt, and woodsmoke.

A village meant villagers, a few of whom stopped in their paths, first waving to Octavia, and then staring curiously at the newcomer. The naked newcomer. Emily felt a familiar flush creep up her neck, and she reflexively hunched her shoulders, making herself as small as possible.

“Hullo love,” said the closest fisherman, his smile more wrinkles than teeth. “Nice day for a walk, innit?”

Emily smiled bashfully, avoiding eye contact.

A woman mending nets nearby chuckled. “Leave ‘er alone, Alf. She’s far too young for you.” She turned to Octavia. “Who’s your friend, then?”

Face glowing with excitemnt, Octavia skipped closer and grabbed Emily’s hand, raising it up in triumph. “This is Emily! She rescued me from certain death when my boat was caught in a whirlpool!”

At this, everyone who wasn’t already staring looked up from what they were doing, keen to get a glimpse of the hero. Emily smiled awkwardly, attempting to preserve some modesty with her free arm.

Octavia’s smile disappeared as she took in Emily’s obvious discomfort. “Oh, sorry!” she blurted out. Then, leaning in, she whispered, “I forgot that ... well, I didn’t think you’d mind ... I’m sorry!” Octavia picked up the side of her dress and tried to wrap it around Emily’s back, hiding at least some of her body. “Come, let’s hurry to my house! I’ve got some clothes for you there.” Then, to the onlookers, she shouted, “Nothing to see here, folks!”

Emily ducked into the crook of Octavia’s arm as best she could and the two hurried toward one of the larger huts, followed by a half a village worth of eyes. Thankfully, the hut was on the outskirts of the small settlement, near the dock. “Here we are,” she said. “Home sweet home. Though it doesn’t look quite the same without the boat moored out front.”

Octavia pushed open a heavy wooden door and ushered Emily in, away from the villagers’ eyes. “Mama! I’m back! And I brought a guest!”

The interior was dim but cozy. A central hearth smoldered, filling the single room with warmth and the scent of peat smoke. Simple wooden furniture lined the walls, and fishing gear hung from pegs. A sturdy-looking woman with a weathered version of Octavia’s face and the same blonde hair, though streaked with gray and pulled back severely, turned from tending a pot over the fire. Her eyes, sharp and blue, widened first at Octavia’s dishevelled state, then widened further as they took in Emily.

“Octavia! By the Tides, what happened? And who...? Why are you...?” Her gaze fixed on Emily’s nudity, suspicion hardening her features instantly.

“Mama, it’s alright! This is Emily. She saved my life!” Octavia quickly recounted the story—the strange whirlpool, the sinking boat, Emily’s rescue.

“ ... and she doesn’t have any clothes on because they got lost,” Octavia concluded. Emily’s explanation of her nudity sounded even weaker when someone else said it.

But this appeared not to matter. Through the course of Octavia’s story, the suspicion in her mother’s eyes had softened, replaced by dawning horror, then a slow flowering of gratitude. She looked Emily up and down again, this time with a different assessment. “You pulled her from the grip of a whirlpool?”

“Uh, yeah,” Emily mumbled, fully conscious of the awkwardness of standing naked in the middle of this lady’s kitchen.

The woman’s face broke into a broad smile. “Saved my daughter, you did. That deserves some kind of favor, though we haven’t much to give.” She bustled towards a large wooden chest. “Octavia, find her something dry. One of your spare shifts and skirts. And that tunic Joric outgrew.”

While Octavia rummaged, her mother—whose name Emily learned was Mara—ladled thick, steaming fish stew into wooden bowls. “Sit, sit,” she urged Emily, pointing to a stool near the hearth. “Get warm. You look chilled to the bone. It’s a brave woman who faces these unnatural tides.”

Emily took her seat on the stool, crossing her legs demurely, as Mara busied herself with the final meal preparations. “I did tell Octavia to stay home today, but she knew better. She always does. If you hadn’t been on that beach ... I shudder to think.”

Octavia soon returned with a bundle of clothes. She’d brought a simple, cream-colored linen shift, a sturdy brown skirt, a tunic that may once have been blue, and a pair of worn moccasins. They were plain, homespun garments, but to Emily, they looked like the finest silks. She ducked behind a hanging curtain Octavia indicated, gratefully pulling the rough fabric over her skin. The fit wasn’t perfect—the tunic was a bit loose across the shoulders and the moccasins squished her toes—but she felt immeasurably better. Human again.

Emily emerged to find a bowl of stew waiting. She sat down opposite Mara and Octavia, inhaling the savory aroma. It was delicious—hearty chunks of fish and root vegetables seasoned with herbs Emily didn’t recognize.

“Eat up,” Mara insisted, her sharp blue eyes softening slightly as Emily took the first spoonful. It was delicious. “Restore your strength. Pulling my girl from a whirlpool like that ... that takes something fierce, girl. More than just strong arms. The currents out there today ... they’d pull down seasoned fishermen.”

Emily swallowed a mouthful of stew, feeling the warmth spread through her. “I just reacted, I guess,” she mumbled.

“Her reaction saved my life, Mama!” Octavia piped up. She looked at Emily with wide, appreciative eyes.

“That it did, lassie,” Mara replied. “It was an act of providence for you to find your way to our shore when you did. Where do your travels bring you from, Emily?”

“Oh, uh, inland,” Emily said quickly, trying to sound casual. It seemed wise not to mention Paja Abbey in this company, and she had no desire to attempt an explanation of where she really came from. “Quite a ways,” she continued, not untruthfully. “I’m ... well, I’m a traveling scholar. Studying local histories, coastal communities, that sort of thing.” She took another quick spoonful of stew, hoping it sounded convincing. “I’ve heard so many legends about the Azure Coast, that I just had to see the place for myself.”

Mara took a slow sip from her spoon, her gaze distant for a moment before returning to Emily. “Providence aside, it’s a bad time for traveling this way. The sea’s been wrong ever since the ground shook yesterday. Old Man Tiberon lost half his crab pots yesterday—lines snapped clean, not frayed like on rocks. Just gone.”

“I suppose that’s why you wanted me to say home,” Octavia said bashfully.

“Aye,” Mara replied, casting her daughter a stern look. “This is no weather for fishing. Nets aren’t just empty, they’re tangled with strange, deep-water weeds we’ve never seen this close to shore. Fish acting skittish, staying deep when they should be running shallow. Crabs shedding out of season. Started right after the tremors.”

It all lined up with what Caelum had said about the currents. The loss of the Azure Essence wasn’t just an Abbey problem; its effects were rippling outwards, disrupting the lives of ordinary people who depended on the sea. She had to get it back from Richard, and not only for the ritual. The Azure Sphere had to be restored.

A thought niggled at her. Would taking a vial of the Azure Essence cause some small but permanent disruption? Surely Althea would not have encouraged her to do something like that.

“It’s the monks!” Octavia declared fiercely, slamming her spoon down. “Always meddling! Thinking they own the Azure Sphere, own the sea itself! They built that silly dome, told everyone it was for protection, for stability, and look what happens! They let the Sphere get stolen, or broken, or whatever happened, and now the sea’s gone mad! Some guardians!”

Mara shot her daughter a look—not disagreement, but perhaps a caution against such open hostility in front of a stranger. “The monks have a deep and abiding respect for the Azure Essence.” She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “That Sphere, Emily ... it was calming these waters long before the first stone of their Abbey tower was laid. They built around it, not the other way around. Remember that, scholar.”

The way Mara emphasized the word ‘scholar’ made Emily shift uncomfortably on her stool.

“They act like the coast belongs to them because they built some fancy buildings on it,” Octavia said, looking into her stew bowl. “They charge us mooring fees if we get too close to ‘their’ cliffs, warn us away from the best fishing spots because their wards need space ... and for what? What’s the use if they can’t even keep the Sphere safe?”

Mara sighed deeply. “That is an interesting piece of jewelry,” she said to Emily, her gaze flicking briefly to the subtle bulge of the Stoneshell beneath the borrowed tunic.

Emily felt her cheeks warm. “Uh, family heirloom,” she stammered, quickly taking another large bite of stew. She hoped that Mara did not have the same familiarity with the Stoneshell that monks and merfolk seemed to.

Mara nodded slowly. “Well,” she said, her tone becoming brisk again, “you saved my daughter. That’s what matters today. Finish your stew. You need your strength, especially if you’re heading back out into ... whatever’s going on out there.”

Emily suddenly remembered Dorian. How long had she been gone? The sun must have moved significantly. She glanced towards the smoke hole in the roof, trying to gauge the time. Sunset felt closer than she liked.

“Thank you so much for the meal, Mara, and Octavia, for the clothes,” Emily said, standing up quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “It was wonderful, truly, but I really must be going. I have ... someone waiting for me.”

Octavia looked disappointed. “So soon? But you just got here!”

“Duty calls,” Mara said, giving Emily an understanding nod that seemed to hold more weight than the simple words implied. “You helped my daughter. Go where you need to go.” She paused, picking up a small, dense oatcake from a plate near the hearth and wrapping it quickly in a piece of cloth. “Take this, for the path.” She pressed it into Emily’s hand, then added quietly, her eyes holding Emily’s for a beat longer than necessary, “But be careful out there, girl. Especially if you’re heading back towards that way.” She gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod in the direction of the cliffs leading back towards the Abbey and the cove.

Emily nodded, accepting the oatcake and the warning. “Thank you, Mara. I will be.”

She gave Octavia a quick hug. “Thanks again. For everything.”

“You’re welcome anytime, Emily! Come back if you can!”

Stepping out of the hut and back into the bright sunlight felt jarring. The village seemed unchanged, with villagers milling about and fisherfolk mending nets. The sun hung in the center of the sky, but would soon begin its descent. Sunset was still hours away, but she didn’t feel ready to face Richard.

Waving a final goodbye to Octavia and Mara, Emily hurried back towards the path leading to the headland and the secluded cove beyond.

She was clothed and fed, but Dorian would be wondering where she had gotten to. She considered teleporting as soon as she was out of sight of the village, but the luxurious feeling of fabric against her skin stopped her. It would be an insult to Octavia and Mara to burn her clothes immediately after receiving them.

No, she would take the long route.

Emily left the village, drawing far less attention than she had on her way in, and began picking her way back along the path by the cliffs. But before long, she was surprised by a tap on the shoulder. She turned to see Mara.

“I know magical artifacts when I see them,” Mara said, looking pointedly at the spot in Emily’s borrowed tunic where the Stoneshell lay. “You’re not just a traveling scholar, are you?”

Emily blushed and stammered, but Mara quickly put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Octavia. She’s taken quite a dislike to the monks and anything magical, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. The prejudices of youth can be very spirited.”

“Th-thank you,” said Emily.

Mara winked. “I mean no insult, my dear, but I didn’t believe for a second that you could have pulled my daughter from a shipwreck in a whirlpool without the help of magic. I am still very grateful, of course. And I don’t want anything further from you, not for me anyhow. I just wanted to ask you something. About the Azure Sphere.”

“W-why would you...?”

Mara’s expression hardened. “I have an inkling that you’re involved in all this somehow. From your actions so far, I believe you’re on the side of good. I hope that you can restore our Azure Sphere. And it is ours. The monks and their abbey may be its current custodians, but it is far older than them and will outlast them. Please, restore it to its rightful position. The Sphere is resilient. Even if much of its mass is missing, it will flourish and grow when returned to its right place.”

Emily nodded. This seemed like enough for Mara, who bowed deeply and turned back to her village.

Emily munched on the oatcake as she continued on her way. She felt reassured about her mission by Mara’s words. As long as some part of the Essence was restored to the abbey, it would ‘flourish and grow.’ That meant she would be able to take a small vial of it without upsetting the delicate balance of nature.