It was the island of Kefta.
The Oshkapeer did not slow, riding the surf, jetting him toward the shore. Its spiked shell led the way, like the prow of a sea god’s boat. Once the Oshkapeer was close enough, Daal was whipped around and tossed toward the beach. He rolled and tumbled out of the water and across the sand.
He lay stunned for a moment on his back.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Nyx discharged just as roughly.
Then his body spasmed violently. He remembered this from his first communing with the Dreamers. He rolled onto his side—and just in time. His body wracked hard, gushing seawater out of his mouth. Still unable to breathe, he got on his hands and knees and continued to heave, pouring a river from his lips and nostrils. His lungs and throat were on fire, scoured by the salt, by the violence of the expulsion. He kept gagging and hacking until finally he was able to catch a clean breath.
He wanted to remain where he was, but he crawled over to Nyx, who was similarly afflicted. She was hunched over her knees. Her spine was an arch of agony. Water streamed and coughed and choked out of her. Tears washed the salt from her eyes. Eventually she sagged, gasping, able to breathe. But she trembled all over.
He drew her into his arms and pulled her onto his lap. She stiffened, possibly fearing his touch. He gathered her closer, passing some of his fire into her, letting it warm through her.
“Wait it out,” Daal said. “It’ll end.”
She hung in his arms, still occasionally coughing, spilling more seawater. He rocked her gently, like he did with Henna whenever she was overwrought or scared.
Splashing drew his attention to the sea. Shiya waded out. Clearly her Oshkapeer was too large to get close to the beach and had dumped her farther out to sea. Not that it mattered to the bronze woman. She did not need to breathe, nor did she have lungs to clear.
She strode over to them. Her glassy eyes shone with concern. Her words were tender and quiet. “Will she be all right?”
He nodded. “Give her a few more breaths.”
Daal forced his arms to relax, realizing they had tightened at Shiya’s approach. The Dreamers’ terror of such figures still echoed inside him.
Nyx finally sat up on her own. She stared down at her wrists. The bleeding had already stopped, as he knew it would. Some property of the Oshkapeers’ sting encouraged clotting and healing.
He fingered the soft scabs on his neck, knowing he would need to hide them, like he had before. Not that such marks had any meaning, as no one living had communed with the Dreamers since Nys Pephia. Still, their matching wounds would be hard to explain.
He glanced down the empty beach. A shoulder of the headlands separated them from Kefta’s bay. They would have to hike and circle around it to reach town. But at least they were alone for now, able to collect themselves.
After a time, as they rested, the mists overhead bloomed from pale blue to bright spatters of crimson, yellows, and greens, marking the start of a new day.
Daal stirred. “We should get going.”
Nyx nodded. “I must find Graylin. I don’t know if he’s still out at sea or if he gave up and returned to town.”
Shiya stood nearby, a bronze sentinel in the sand. She frowned at them, tilting her head slightly.
Nyx must have noted her expression. “Shiya, what’s wrong?” she asked.
The woman’s gaze swept between the two of them. “Just now, you were both speaking Panthean. I could not follow what you said.”
Nyx frowned, touching her lips.
Daal backed a step, glancing over at Nyx. He switched to Noorish, a tongue that he normally found challenging, but now it felt as if he had been born to it. “Shiya is right. I had been speaking Panthean. So were you. How could that be?”
“When we were communing, joined together with the Dreamers…” Nyx stared hard at him. “We shared our lives.”
He winced, knowing how much he had learned about her. She’d surely gained as much knowledge about him.
He switched to Panthean again, certain she would understand. “Clearly, we shared more than just our lives.”
Nyx kept alongside Daal as they circled around the headlands. The town’s large bay opened before them, crowded with boats of all sizes. A few strands of music still flowed from the festival, greeting the new day, but even those sounded defeated and tired.
She understood that sentiment. Her legs remained weak and wobbly. Even the short hike strained the little reserves she had left. Her chest continued to burn. Her throat had closed tight, rasping her breath.
With Shiya guarding them, they followed the beach that bordered the dock. They tried to stick to the deepest shadows cast by the neighboring cliffs. The intent was to find Daal’s father and Quartermaster Vikas, who had been left behind at the festival.
