“Yes,”he said.“I saw it every day.I’d fall asleep to the babble.I’dbathe in the water frequently.But I never—” He rubbed some crusted blood fromhis chest.“No one would ever teach me, and I was always too scared to wadefurther in.I kept imagining the current dragging me under, and I’d just ...get discouraged.”
Shestroked closer to him.“I could show you some lessons now, if you wish.”
Hepaused, looking at her only by the reflection in the water.
“Isaac?”she asked.
Hegrimaced.
“Comeon,” Zaria said, giving a splash with her hand.“It’ll be fun.Promise.”
Fun, hethought.
Whatwould I know about fun?
“Itain’t that hard, love.”
“No,no, please, no, I—” He gestured to a broken section of the stone wall.“Inoticed some, uh, lichen growing on the rocks.It’s a species with very fibrousshoots.We could make a fire of it.”
Shelooked at him over the water, her mohawk trailing over an eye.
“I’llgo do that,” he said, wading away.
Heexited the pool, shivering and naked.He collected her dagger, went over to thesmall cave-in, used the blade to scrape off as much lichen as he could, andbrought the ball of leafy fungi over to their packs.After using some scatteredrocks to build a base, he lit the lichen with a small casting of flame.Thefire took hold, spreading along the mycelia.Bulbs popped and cracked.
Behindhim, Zaria continued to swim around the pool, performing lazy, wanderingstrokes.From the edge, Isaac washed his filthy robes as much as he could.Helaid them out by the fire to dry.He sat down on the craggy floor and staredinto the flames, still shivering with cold.
Thelonger he stared into the fire, the more frustrated he felt.
Hehated the fear inside him, whenever he approached thewater.As a boy, after his training and studies, he had frequently walked tothe edge of the river by his tower.Every time, he had promised himself that hewould take the plunge.He would jump into the water, past the point where hisfeet touched the bottom, and he would teach himself to swim.But every time thewater rose to his chest, he would stare into the dark, murky currents, and thefear would overcome him, which included not only the fear of death, but thefear that his uncle would spot him shirking his duties.Every time, he hadcowered away.
Hestill couldn’t do it.He was still afraid.
He hadfaced dragons, pirates, and the army of a necromancer, but this one basic taskstill eluded him.Others knew how to swim.They did not consider it somethingto fear.The sound of Zaria splashing behind him only made his fists clenchtighter.
Whycouldn’t he do this?
Why wasit so daunting in his mind?
Wouldhe feel this fear when doing any other basic task?Would he be afraid to ordera drink at a tavern?Would he be afraid to ride a horse?
Wouldhe ever be able to live a normal life?
A gushof water came behind him.Zaria had climbed out of the pool, water streamingdown her spotted fur.She sauntered over to a stone bench next to the fire andsquatted down at the edge, holding her hands to the flames.
“Tossme some rations, would you, love?”
He reachedover to his pack and flung a few cuts of salt meat her way.He began to poundhis fist into a brick of hardtack.For a time, the only sounds in the bathhousewere the crackling flames and their own labored chewing.
Isaackept stealing glances at her.
Theywere both naked.Of course, they had to be.Their clothes were filthy and wet.They had just taken a bath.Both of them needed to rest and recuperate.
Theirstate of undress should not be odd to him.
And,yet, he was afraid again.He felt vulnerable, exposed.He kept glancing inZaria’s direction, but, in truth, he was terrified to meet her gaze.She hadbeen right—they’d already had sex.They hadfucked.It had been anenlightening experience, but still one that was ultimately common.What hadhappened was natural, in a way.
So,then, why was he so nervous?What cause did he have to feel this way?Why washis heart pounding so—
