The speed at which the storm arrived was so swift that it was almost surreal. Damon had just begun leading the others back inside when a curtain of rain swept over them with enough force to soak their clothes across the span of a moment.
The ship pitched wildly, forcing them to crouch to stay balanced on the pitching deck. They hurried back into the main cabin, but it only protected them from the rain. Several plates from their earlier dinner had already smashed onto the floor, bits of ceramic and leftovers from dinner scattered underfoot.
“What do we do?” cried Vel.
Damon saw Malon hurrying from the kitchen, walking with her hand braced against the wall.
“We have to steer ourselves out of this storm, if we can,” he said, without much optimism.
“I will see if I can deflect some its intensity with my tempesting,” said Ria.
“Be careful, seta,” said Malon.
They set out immediately. Damon and Vel climbed up to the glass cabin, which gave them a terrifying view of the ocean’s true state. The difference between the highs and lows of the water made it seem as though they were staring out across a valley of dark, shifting hills. The ship had no real control of its own, hurtling downward to take a massive wave across its deck, only to pitch upward again, tilting backward at a horrible angle.
“Damon!” cried Vel. “Which way?”
She clung to the ship’s wheel with a white-knuckled grip, eyes wide and searching.
“Away from the clouds,” he said. “Away from the lightning. But that’s secondary. Just try to keep the ship even, as much as possible.”
Ria was out on deck. Damon had a sickening feeling in his stomach as he watched her extend her arms and begin her tempesting, hardly able to stand up straight against the encroaching waves and her unsteady footing.
He tried to think of what he might be able to do with his ice magic, but it felt like trying to problem solve with the wrong tool for the job. He could freeze the water around the ship, he supposed, but the ice he created would still be at the mercy of the storm’s chaos, adrift in the churning sea.
He saw Ria slip and stumble and was moving in an instant. Vel shouted something at him that he couldn’t hear through the thunder.
“Just stay at the wheel!” he yelled back.
He ran down as quickly as he could, bursting out of the main cabin and onto the lower deck. It was a struggle from the first step, the wind buffeting with such power that he literally couldn’t move forward until the ship pitched downward along the ocean’s wild slope, and then he was stumbling across the deck with too much speed and no coordination.
Ria had fallen over and struggling to rise back to her feet, slipping and rolling against the ship’s uncooperative angle. Malon had come out onto deck to help her, but she was moving slowly, one hand clutching the end of a rope that she must have secured to some part of the main cabin.
Damon yelled, trying to get her attention. The deck shifted underneath him, and he was suddenly trying to walk uphill, his bare feet sliding on slick wood.
There was a bang of thunder so close that it left his ears ringing. Crimson power illuminated the harrowing scene as Malon cast a spell, creating a barrier which slid into place to keep Ria from rolling straight under the guard railing and off the deck. She kept creeping along the rope, straining with effort as she simultaneously maintained her spell.
She shouted something at Ria, who began dragging herself toward her aesta. Damon stayed where he was, aware that he might only place himself in a similar strait if he attempted to help without having the means to affect the situation.
A massive wave crashed over the deck. Malon was there one instant and gone the next. Ria had the end of the rope in one hand and frantically pointed, screaming for Damon’s attention. He looked in the direction the wave had continued in time to see his aesta sliding at speed and slamming into one of the poles of the guard rail headfirst.
Damon didn’t think. He sprinted after her, reaching out. Too late. He saw her fall overboard, tangled in her own dress, and strike the water below. He dove in after her without a second’s hesitation.
Had he waited a minute, a moment, even, she would have been gone, swallowed by the ocean without a trace. He nearly landed on top of her and managed to grab her and squeeze her body against his with one arm. He kicked hard to keep them both up, and using his magic, propelled them upward with a pillar of ice from below.
It would have worked, if he’d been faster, or even if he’d simply angled the pillar to account for the ship’s speed. The Reunion was already out of reach by the time he’d lifted them to be at even height with the deck.
Damon had the wherewithal to lower them and attempt to make a flat raft of ice to at least keep them out of the water. A wave struck him, dissolving his focus. Water forced its way into his mouth and nose. He couldn’t breathe. He was coughing. He thought of Vel, sucking down too much smoke at once, how they’d all laughed at her expense. Everything went black.
***
Damon felt something tickle one of his feet. He groaned, blinked his eyes open, winced at the blinding intensity of the sun. He was alive, and he’d apparently made it to land. A slight pinch bit into one of his toes and he kicked out, knocking a tiny sand crab back.
Alive, and missing his boots. He hadn’t bothered to put them on when they’d gone out onto deck to smoke, and there hadn’t been time in the ensuing chaos. He slowly dragged himself to his feet, feeling the sea-damp surf against the pads of his feet.
He recognized the situation as a parallel to how he’d woken up after breaking free of the ice, though thankfully, not a direct one. The beach he was on looked beautiful. The sky overhead was sunny, free of the ash and off-colored clouds and the general sense of malevolence.
Slowly, he started walking, his damp clothing chafing in the places where sand had snuck in against his skin. He focused on what he could do, rather than what might have happened, the facts which gnawed at his anxiety like boring termites. His aesta had taken a blow to the head. She’d been in the ocean, injured and unconscious and unable to save herself.
He tried and failed, and he simply couldn’t let himself consider the possibility that she’d died. It was too much. He took a breath, shifting the direction of his thoughts. He’d blacked out too, and if the water had naturally carried him to this island, odds were good that she might be nearby.
Damon kept moving, taking in his surroundings, hoping while not daring to hope. The island’s center was covered with a tropical forest of thin trees, new growth or growth that was limited by soil. The ground had a flat, shallow quality that left him wondering if it had once been larger than it was, or might cease being an island for temporary spans during strong enough storms.
He continued along the beach, guessing from the curve he could see ahead of him that he wasn’t dealing with a large chunk of land. That was a fact that would make his search a fair bit easier, at least.
“Aesta!” he called, throat scratchy and painful. “Aesta!”
Using his voice drew his attention to how thirsty he was, which was deeply unfortunate. He kept moving, feet kicking up sand as he broke into a trot and then slowed, not wanting to start sweating if it could be helped.
He spent half an hour stuck in that same state of mind, thoughts looping from the island, to basic survival, to his aesta, his failure, and back around again, losing more hope each iteration. He wasn’t anywhere close to giving up, but his despair was weighing upon him, when suddenly, there she was.
He stumbled around one of the island’s curves and saw her standing on the beach. Naked. He blinked, doubting reality until he blinked a few times and confirmed as much with his lower reaction as with his eyes that she really was in front of him.
Naked.
“Aesta?” he called.
She spun around, seeing him and going through a range of reactions across the span of a second. Joy, relief, embarrassment, annoyance… it was all there, all distilled into that loving smile and those reproachful eyes.
“Solas.” She cleared her throat, covering her full breasts with one arm, shoving her hand down to veil her crotch. “You’re alive. Oh, solas. I’m so relieved.”
“As am I,” he said. “Um. Might I ask what happened to your—”
“Clothes,” she said, quickly. “They were damp and sandy and started chafing, and I simply thought that it might be better to let them dry off first.”
She nodded her head sideways. Damon started walking toward her, intent on pulling her into a hug, despite knowing it was just about the most dangerous thing he could do in terms of swinging them off topic. Malon’s smile blossomed reluctantly, but knowingly, as he came nearer.
“I’m sure they’re dry enough now,” she said. “I should put them back on.”
“Mine are still damp,” said Damon. “Maybe I should do as you did.”
“Solas.” Her voice was stern and justifiably serious. “This is not a good time for… this.”
He took a breath and nodded. “Right. I just didn’t expect to find you. At all, let alone naked.”
He turned around, listening to the rustle of clothing as she hurriedly dressed.
“It’s safe for you to look again,” she said.
He turned around, taking in the sight of her and noticing the details he’d missed in the face of her nudity. Her hair was unbraided, which made her look younger, somehow. She’d only thrown her dress on, forgoing her small clothes and leggings, and he could see the curving press of her breasts against the thin fabric. Her feet were bare, as were his, and she had the cutest, pale little toes.
“I was so worried,” she said. She stepped forward, pulling him into a long overdue hug.
Damon squeezed her tight, her body so warm and perfect against his. For all the dress concealed her body from his eyes, it was thin enough to be all but a nonfactor as he clutched her against his chest.
“I thought I’d failed,” he said. “I was so close to getting us both back onto the ship. It all happened so fast.”
“The last thing I remember is slipping on the deck,” said Malon. They pulled apart from one another, but she stayed near enough to stroke her hand against his cheek. “After that, I simply woke up on the beach with an awful headache.”
“How bad is it now?” he asked, wincing as he reached out to touch her head.
“It’s bearable,” she said. “I’m not in any danger, injury wise.”
“Injury wise,” he muttered. “We’re still stranded here. We’ll have to figure out how to survive for at least the near term.”
“We will,” said Malon, taking his hand. “Together.”