Salt of the Earth (Sama'el)

[Ronan]

Timestamp: 61st Day of Winter, 511 AV

Location: Cave in the Talderan Wilderness

Holed up again, Ronan thought sourly. Everyone seemed to share his sentiments, glum faces affirming the frustration of their slow progress. Though they should have known better, trying to travel to Avanthal in Winter's grasp.

Nights were cold and bitter, the days were harsh and obstructive. Light was restricted too, forcing them to camp early each night, so the horses would be able to see their way without breaking any limbs.

He had never imagined travelling to be so bleak.

Ronan glanced across at Sama'el. He was sitting alone, tending to his belongings. It was a rare moment, where he had come up for air from Issima. The married couple were close, that was for sure.

"I hope this passes soon," he said to the Watchman, "Avanthal seems an age away."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

The weather was inescapable, really. Having to postpone the trip to track down Denen had only changed the shape of things. They would travel through Winter, huddling down when the weather was too perilous to face in the open, but the return trip would be easier as the Spring thaws cleared their paths and hunting was better, as well as forage for the horses. The journey out would try them; the journey home would be the pleasurable portion of the ride. Of course, he found his pleasure in his new wife, and in proving that he and his friends were hardy enough to take a Talderan winter in the teeth. There was also the camaraderie with his fellows, and the joy in being able to lead them through terrain he knew better. Little things like that built up his pride, his confidence that he could be a leader. He would become an Ankal when they returned to Endrykas, he decided. He had a wife, and could afford a pavilion. It would be small, to be sure, but it would be. And then, perhaps, he could also advance among the Watch. For now, though, he could only bide his time. A finger of witchlight hovered at his shoulder as he worked his awl into his leather belt, laid flat upon the stone. He had never had much flesh on him, but despite eating relatively well, all things considered, he was losing weight and needed to take in the belt. It was boring work, and nothing complicated, but he was attempting to do it correctly as Utine Redpelt had taught him. It was so cold, the leather was hard; he didn't want to hold it next to a fire to soften it, though, and since he had nothing but time, he was patient about it. Dark, almond-shaped eyes flicked up at Ronan, his usual grin following quick on the heels of his glance. "Nobody twisted your arm, whiner. It won't take too long. A fortnight or so after New Year. Just keep your eyes on the prize; you can marry a few Vantha girls to bring back to the Sea to make babies with you."

[Ronan]

Whiner...? "You're such a bastard sometimes," Ronan quipped, "that's all you think about, right? Making babies and sowing your seeds?" there was a hint of annoyance to his voice, but Sam would know he was not being argumentative.

Thoughts of Riverfall played on his mind, and his heart. He couldn't help it.

"Sorry... you know what I'm thinking about Sam. I hate her for getting into my head and refusing to leave."

He sighed, wondering how Kavala was. He didn't mean it. He could never hate her. She was busy, he was sure. She had had so many plans for Sanctuary, renovations, relocations.

He looked back to Sama'el, the man working on his belt. Had he lost even more weight out here? He had always been a slender man. Perhaps he was exercising too much with his passions for his new wife. Ronan nearly laughed, imagining Sama'el would be fattened up when they returned to Endrykas. Issima would possibly have a child, and then she'd feed Sama'el to his hearts content.

"It's stupid. I need to forget it. Let's find something to do, yes?"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el caught the annoyance, and kept his response behind his teeth. Ronan knew why a family was so important to the orphaned Watchman, and Sama'el knew that. He was beginning to understand that sometimes, when people lashed out at him, it had nothing to do with him at all. He just sat there, the side of his face limned in the light of his Fire, and worked a hole into his leather belt. Leatherworking was more of a hobby, something he was working on because he might need it, but while he was not skilled, he worked slowly and carefully and usually managed not to bollocks everything up. "You could always stay, you know," he offered quietly. He meant at the Sanctuary, of course. Kavala could always use the help, and perhaps they would be able to work out a way for her to be released from her Nakivak status, to marry Ronan if they decided that was what they wanted. They would only have Konti daughters, but they would be Drykas. But he shrugged it off when it was clear Ronan didn't want to talk about it. Certainly he could not join the Watch if he stayed there, and Sama'el didn't know what his priorities were, or if he even knew. Though perhaps he could join the Watch and eventually be stationed at the Sanctuary. There were ways and ways to make ones dreams come true, as Sama'el was learning more and more everyday. Anyway, Sama'el had secrets now. Issima was pregnant, but it wasn't right to announce it until she was farther along, when it was less and less likely she would lose the child as many mothers did. The weather hadn't quite cleared up to where they could do much outside, though... "What did you have in mind?"

[Ronan]

I could stay... but it's all just impossible. Kavala was bound to her contract. No matter what he thought, or felt, he could not pull her free from that. Raiha had made the situation clear enough to him.

Sama'el looked at him for a moment, with a thoughtful expression. The man could be serious, when he so wished, Ronan thought with a shake of his head. The thoughts were folly anyway. Unrequited. Melodramatic. He'd keep thinking on them, and only push himself into a downwards spiral. It was best to keep busy, and think about the other people around him.

When Sam asked him what he had in mind, Ronan's face turned into a smile. He had watched the man use his reimancy often enough, swathes of fire to melt the snow or light a little bonfire for warmth. It was a beautiful art. And it had saved their lives before, among the Glassbeaks.

He was prepared to learn anything if it would put him in good stead for the Watch.

"Reimancy," he said quietly, and then he looked up, eyes more intensely on the Watcher, "is it something I could learn?"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam glanced up from his patient work with the leather to peer at Ronan, then smiled. It had occurred to him to initiate Ronan in reimancy; after all, he wanted him as skilled and variable in those skills as possible that he might have the best possible chance of joining the Watch. But Sama'el also knew what it was like to run oneself ragged attempting to learn everything in the shortest amount of time, the better to reach one's goals, or the faster to reach them, anyway. He wondered if that hadn't driven Dymphna and Athe off, whether he might have been married the sooner if he had only relaxed into his Drykas life rather than attempting to be the best Drykas around. But if Ronan was coming to him, he must have felt ready, felt capable of handling more. Certainly he had taken to the Web rather well, Sama'el thought. "It's not so much a matter of learning," he said. "I would have to initiate you, and then you learn. But initiation... well, it isn't comfortable. Did Kavala tell you about hers?"

[Ronan]

Sama'el looked up at his words, clearly pondering on whether it was something Ronan was ready for. It was strange. Until this year, he had never dabbled in magic. But Webbing was natural to the Drykas, and he felt all the more adept for having a small degree of skill in it.

Now was the time to learn from another school of the mystic arts. Reimancy was as beautiful as it was powerful, and it varied with the elements from what he had witnessed in the past.

Initiation... magic was rarely pleasant at first. Even now, Webbing gave him slight headaches and weariness.

"She only mentioned it briefly... that you had inducted her. I don't remember her saying any more than that."

He looked down at the cave floor, a small moth teetering along the ground before taking flight in its papery beige brilliance.

"But I can handle unpleasantness," Ronan said, before breaking into a grin, "I've been travelling with you, haven't I?"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Finally the awl bored all the way through the leather, and he looked down at it as he pushed the leather farther up the spike to where it widened, which widened the hole too. Now he could tighten his belt and walk without it threatening to slip down his slim hips. He pulled the awl out, then went through the other side just to make sure everything was uniform. Utine Redpelt would thwap his skull with the handle of her awl if she saw him cutting corners, after all. Finally he set his awl back in his kit and put his belt on, his clothes falling closer to the skin now. He was all whipcord muscle over his bones, the baby fat starting to melt away from his cheeks. Still young, he was of an age to be a respected man among the Drykas. Now he was starting to look the man. "It's not a Drykas mystery," he said conversationally, adjusting the belt around his hips. "Any old wizard could teach you if they have the elements at their beck and call. But it involves bleeding, and I have to put part of my soul inside you, then take it out once your body and soul recognize it..." He looked up, not guilty but wary. He had put his soul inside Kavala, and he knew Ronan was taking a shine to her. The last thing he wanted was discord in their friendship. "But we're twined together with the Web already, so... Are you willing to bleed for the power? It hurt when I was initiated. Not the cuts, but... my whole body. It didn't last all that long, I suppose, but... Well, nothing comes without a price, hey? "And I can't guarantee which element will respond to you," he said. "I wanted Water like my cousin Eldon. He makes Water for his pavilion even on the outskirts of Eyktol's deserts. But I got Fire, which is good too, in different ways. Kavala wanted Earth, so we prayed to Semele and she said yes. But I don't know that it's really in our hands."

[Ronan]

"No," Ronan said, shaking his head, voice laced with bitter knowing, "nothing is ever truly free."

Everything came with a price. He had learnt that lesson often enough. From happiness torn away in the grasses, to love he could never have. Perhaps one day he would be given something with no strings attached.

The elements... he hadn't even thought about them much. He'd seen reimancy as a magic, and yet, in his head he hadn't considered which direction he wanted to take. Raging fire, soothing water, boisterous air, or hardy earth.

He looked to Sama'el, confused for a moment, and then his face softened into a smile.

"What will be, will be. Initiate me, brother, and then let the element choose me, not the other way round. I am sure that whatever I end up with, will suit me for some purpose."

He eyed the Watcher carefully, his belt completed. He did not need to say anything else. His green eyes compelled a beginning. He was ready. Whether he would regret this choice or not, didn't matter. For now, he wanted to be stronger. For Sama'el. For Kavala. For himself. For the future.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el thought for just a moment, then nodded. Thinking perhaps Ronan was doing this for Kavala as much as to have another skill to offer the Watch, he nodded deeper into the cave and led him there. Most of the others were out, enjoying the biting cold air for a while as opposed to the dark and damp of the cave, though Fire had done well to banish the worst of the damp. Kavala had asked for Earth, and Semele had answered. Perhaps Semele still had her eye on Sama'el too, and so they went to the deepest part of the cave where they stored the bulk of their things that they didn't want to trip over in the part where they lived. He sat on a sack of grain kept for the horses, pulled Ronan down to one across from him, their knees touching. They had to be close for the knife and the res; it was an intimate ritual, but the Drykas were used to close quarters and no personal space. They would, however, forego the ritual bath he and Kavala had shared to purify their spirits before she called out to the goddess. "All right. I'm going to find the best place on you to cut, and then I'm going to push res into you. That's the form the djed takes for calling and working with elements. I have to cut you and fill you with my soul until your soul recognizes the shape it has to make of itself to do this work... I won't cut deeply. It just needs to go to your blood as quickly as possible. It might hurt, but Denen is not far in case anything should go wrong, not that anything should. I've never seen it happen. But just in case." With Ronan's approval, he took each of his hands, pushing his sleeves up and running his fingers over the skin of his forearms, searching for something. The Web was in his eyes, and also his growing affinity for all auras of magic. As he looked for that point on the arm best suited, res began to gather in a smoldering haze around him, then began to snake around them in a circle, each cardinal point marked with a rune that glowed. Being illiterate, the glyphs were real only in Sama'el's understanding of things. To him, they contained the concepts of Fire, Water, Earth, and Air. The southerly glyph burned a bright and vibrant red, but the others were more muted, their colors bluish, greenish, and yellowish. He had no mastery there, but the corners needed calling, the gods and elements appeasing. "If you are ready," he said, his thumb held gently over a vein in the softer, less tanned skin inside Ronan's forearm, his dagger held at the ready.