Tempest (32 page)

Colm and Nichol exchanged a glance. “We thought as much,” Nichol said. “But what will we do?”

“What, the Siskanns aren't to your liking?” Markey asked sarcastically. “You're a fisherman, aren't you?”

Colm sighed. “We had a…hard time getting here. It's a friendly place, but I don't think we want to stay here unless there's no other option.”

“That's the thing about Fergus.” Marley took a piece of fluffy bread and bit into it with a bit of a smile. “He's always thinking of other options.”

Marley and Fergus took over the floor of the hut that Colm and Nichol had been provided that night. Nichol slept like the dead, and Marley, after doing the bulk of the unloading that day, was also too weary to keep his eyes open after the sunset.

Colm started in the bed next to Nichol, but he felt restless. This was a good place, a relatively safe place, but he couldn't find it in his heart to love it yet. The method of his arrival, no matter that it had ended positively, still weighed on him too much to disregard.

He saw Fergus stand and head outside, and a moment later, carefully untangled himself from Nichol's close embrace and went out to join him. Fergus didn't look back, just walked on toward the wagon that held his supplies. Most of the nimh-folk were in their homes, but there were still hot ashes in the brazier in the center of town. By the time Colm caught up with his friend, Fergus was lighting a thick, wide candle off one of the tiny orange coals still surviving among its dead.

“The scent helps drive the insects off,” Fergus explained quietly as he set the candle down on the edge of the cart and heaved himself up onto it. It rocked gently under his weight, and when he gestured for Colm to sit beside him, it felt almost nostalgic.

“So, lad.” Fergus rubbed his hands together briskly, although they couldn't be cold. “You've had a right time of it since we last met, it seems.”

That was one way of putting it. “That's true,” Colm agreed. And then, because he had to know: “Have you heard anything of the Roving Spectacular?”

“The bastards who caged you?” Fergus had already been told of Colm's transformation, and how it had
not
been into the selkie he'd always assumed it would be. “Why're you interested in them?”

Colm sighed. “One of them was kind to me, and another wasn't…he wasn't
un
kind.” Colm had no idea what Kith's tale was, but he'd seemed to be just as much a pawn of fate as Colm, in his own way.

“Disbanded, far as I know. There were some rumors on the road, something about bandits and a village riot. The regent's riders went looking for them, but as far as I know, they never found anything.” Fergus shrugged. “It doesn't really matter. An outfit like the rovers always finds a way to carry on, even if it's only for the next incarnation. People like us, we survive. Through conquest and fire and plague, we find ways to live. Much as the Ardeaglais would like to be shed of us, someone will always find his way through.”

Colm thought of Kiaran then, how even blind he'd seemed to see more clearly than most of the people around him. Surely he could disguise himself so that he could travel and find whatever it was—or whoever—he was looking for. “So you just go on, then?”

“That's my way, always has been. Doesn't mean it has to suit everyone.” He gestured around them at the village. “These people have been here for longer than I have, that's for sure. No king's managed to rout them yet, and I doubt one ever will. You'd be safe here, if you wanted to be.”

“I know.” Just those two words were enough explanation for Fergus.

“Bloody weather, isn't it?” he confided. “Can't stand so much damn water in the air. Give me a sandstorm over this Two-blasted dampness any day, that's what I say. Of course, leave me in the desert for too long and I start to wish for snow. Lay me down in the snow and I'll be begging for rain before day's end.” Fergus chuckled. “I've a changeable nature.”

“I don't,” Colm said. “I just want a place I can call home.”

“Well then.” They looked at each other for a long moment. “I think I might know a place. You and your lad would have to travel with me for a time, but by the end of the journey you'd have a place to make a new home in. There's a village on the eastern side of the White Spires that's friendly. Plenty of that snow I yearn for, and extra rooms for you two when Marley and I aren't there. It's the one town I rest my head in through the year where I've no wife, so there's no need to worry about disrupting anyone's household.

“It's rather hard to find,” Fergus added, “like all these places. But it could be good to you, to
both
of you, if you can wait the half a year it'll take to get there. You can get your strength back, see a bit more of the world.” He tilted his head at Colm. “What d'ye say, Weathercliff?”

Colm thought about Nichol, always steadfast, willing to stay with him no matter what. He thought of how good it had felt to have a place to lay his head that he could really lay claim to, and how glorious it would be to have one with Nichol. A place that might accept his strangeness, and their bond. He thought about seasons on the road with Fergus and Marley, days of work and stories and nights rolled up beside Nichol beneath a wagon, alone together for all that they might be surrounded by a caravan full of others.

“I say yes.”

Epilogue

“It shall not leak,” Nichol declared, staring pensively up at the roof while Colm checked on the fish pie that was cooking in the small iron oven. Snow had just started falling in Faoilea, a storm that had been predicted by Marley and spurred Nichol to finally nail down the last of the new tiles. Fergus and Marley had left yesterday, the nip in the air just beginning to bite, and Colm and Nichol had spent all their time since clearing away the refuse that came when a house was left empty for a long time.

Faoilea was a tiny hamlet, smaller even than Anneslea, on the opposite side of the White Spires as Colm's former home. As promised, it had been nearly impossible to find. Fergus had hemmed and hawed for almost an hour thinking they'd missed the turn before Marley had finally steered them right, and even then it had been a tight fit for the wagons. The trail skirted boulders and a rocky scree field and gave the camels a hard time, but in the end, they made it to Faoilea, where Fergus was welcomed by the village elder, a man with slate-blue skin and a white beard.

“What is he?” Nichol had breathed next to Colm as he watched the pair greet each other.

“Old's what he is,” Marley had said quietly. “He's the founder of this village, and he's never looked any different to me in twenty years of coming here. Part giant, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.” Nichol looked like he wanted to ask, but Colm had persuaded him not to, at least not until they'd had a chance to make a good first impression.

Apparently Fergus's word carried some weight, however, for they were welcomed into Faoilea kindly. Liyall, the elder, seemed particularly pleased. “It's about time someone settled in that old place,” he told them over dinner that night, rock goat cooked in a mushroom stew. “When I gave it to you, I didn't mean for you to let it founder,” he chided Fergus, who shrugged helplessly. “But at least you've brought us someone to fill it while we wait for you to give up your wandering ways. Tell me of yourself, Colm Weathercliff.”

“I…” What did he mean? What he was, what kind of magic he had? Nichol's hand found his under the table, linking their fingers together, and he drew strength from the connection. “I was a fisherman. I was changed by the sea,” Colm said at last. “And Nichol changed me back, but not without cost. I can't go back to where I've been.”

“This is a good place to be,” Liyall said. “Despite our Fergus not being able to stay longer than a week or so. And Nichol Searunner, would you stay as well?”

“I'm staying with Colm,” Nichol said quickly. “Wherever he leads me.”

Liyall had smiled. “Then I think you'll both do well here.”

And they had. Having a house that they could call their own, even one as decrepit as Fergus's, gave them both a sense of purpose. Occupation beyond repairs would come with time, Liyall assured them. For now, they needed to batten down their hatches against the coming winter.

“No leaks. I'm sure of it,” Nichol said again, even though he didn't sound completely sure.

“I'll take your word for it.” Colm had never learned to care for heights, and his gait was still a trifle uneven due to his amputation, so he'd left the climbing to Nichol and contented himself to work inside the house. They hadn't given the inhabitants of Faoilea, only about a hundred in total, enough warning of their coming to provide much in the way of fuel stores. That meant that for this winter, at least, they would be sleeping beside the stove to make the most of its warmth. Both of them had spent enough time with Megg to fare well enough with cooking simple meals, and Fergus had left a ridiculous amount of supplies for them: pots and pans, dishes, soap, spices, traveler's fare that lasted and lasted in the cool air.

In the spring, they would open up more of the house, patch more of the roof. In the spring, they would make spaces for others in this place. But for now…

Colm leaned back and reached for Nichol as he started to walk by, catching the hem of his pants and reeling him back. Nichol laughed and let himself be caught, pulled down onto the bedroll next to Colm and tucked in close to his side. His nose was cold, and Colm shivered as Nichol buried it against his neck.

“Alone at last,” Nichol teased, and Colm still couldn't get enough of seeing that easy grin on his lover's face again. Nichol had never quite lost all his spirit, but it had taken months of travel and several adventures for him to get back to his gleeful former self. Their time on the road had done him good, a way to fulfill his sense of adventure without the accompanying grief of traveling with the rovers. Marley had reluctantly taught him the basics with a saber, and after six months of daily practice, Nichol had become competent enough with it to help protect the caravan against a half-hearted group of malcontents in one town on the edge of the Fasach Steppes. He'd walked away beaming with a cut on his leg and a boast on his lips. He had been riveting.

Colm turned and brushed his face against Nichol's curls. Colm's hair had grown out again and Nichol had a habit of running his hands through it every chance he could get, but he kept it trimmed short. Nichol's, on the other hand, was almost long enough to bind behind his neck, and Colm loved the feel of those soft strands against his body.

A fact that Nichol knew and took advantage of. “Our dinner won't be ready for hours,” he said slyly. “I've a thought for how we could pass the time.”

Colm smiled. “You have that thought quite often.”

“What can I say? I find you irresistible.” It was utterly true, odd eye and mangled foot and all. Colm never had to look far for affection, because Nichol was always there, ready to lavish him with love. Colm was his heart's only outlet, and he would never dream of refusing such a gift.

“How fortunate that the feeling is mutual,” Colm said, and Nichol laughed and rolled him over onto his back, as close to the stove as they could get without touching it.

“Then you'll give yourself to me?” He kissed Colm lingeringly. “Let me touch you? And you can be as loud as you want, you can yell the house down and there's no one to care…”

“You,” Colm paused to catch his breath as Nichol stroked him over the fabric of his trousers, “are the one who makes all the noise.”

“It doesn't have to be that way,” Nichol pointed out. “I know you've a voice in there that's just dying to be heard.”

He might be correct, but right now… Colm got his arms around Nichol's waist and rolled them again. “I'd rather hear yours,” he said before nipping at Nichol's lower lip. Nichol leaned up into the embrace, already breathing harder.

“Gods, yes,” he murmured fervently. “Anything, anything you want.”

Colm wanted…everything. For now, though, he would content himself with a taste. He slid down Nichol's body, lifting his shirt and kissing the taut skin of his belly as he untied Nichol's trousers. Nichol helped push them down, eager, and Colm rewarded him by not teasing, just licking a path over the trail of hair that crept down his abdomen until the head of Nichol's cock was in reach, rosy and already slick. Colm wrapped his lips around it, and Nichol groaned.

“Oh…gods, you, Colm…mmm…”

It was a good start, but they could do better. Colm stroked Nichol's hip and inner thigh as he swallowed and licked, teasing his lover until all Nichol could say was his name, over and over again. Finally he let his hand join his mouth and stroked Nichol's cock as he sucked, hard, desperate to collect everything his lover had to give against his tongue.

“No, no, wait wait wait, Colm,
wait
…” Colm didn't want to pull back, but he obeyed the gentle tug of Nichol's hands.

“What is it?” he asked hoarsely, unable to let go completely of Nichol's cock, so red and swollen and ready.

In response, Nichol pulled him around, shifting Colm until he was facing the other way, kneeling above Nichol bemusedly as he pushed Colm's clothes out of the way. “Come with me,” Nichol said just before he enveloped Colm's erection in warm, wet heat.

They hadn't done this before, tending to each other like this at the same time. It felt so good that Colm had a hard time concentrating on the task at hand, but he didn't have to do much at this point. A few more strokes from him had Nichol tensing and arching his back, breathing hard around Colm's cock as he came. He didn't stop, though, kept working Colm through his own orgasm, pulling and pressing and finally, as one finger just began to penetrate him, Colm came as well, groaning Nichol's name as he spent himself.

They curled around each other afterward, Colm barely having the presence of mind to cover them with a blanket to keep the chill off now that they were naked. Colm closed his eyes and didn't try to fight the pleasant languor that felt so heavy now. He could go to sleep. The pie would still take some time to finish cooking, and he'd smell it if it stayed in too long. Sleep sounded perfect.

“What do you think Gran will do when she gets our letter?”

Or he could talk to Nichol. “I think she'll sit down at her table with Sari on her lap and read it a dozen times, just to make sure it says what she thinks it says.”

Nichol relaxed a little. “Do you think she'll be angry?”

Colm kissed Nichol's forehead. “Why would she be angry?”

“Because I left her. I just…left her.”

Colm remembered the quaver in Megg's voice back at the cove when she spoke to her selkie husband about Nichol and how poorly he was doing. “I think she'll be happy to know that you're alive and well,” Colm said at last. “She might be a bit upset you didn't tell her what you were going to do, but she loves you too much to let that affect her joy.”

“And at least she has Baylee now.”

Colm shut his eyes. “I hope so.”

“If your sister is resourceful enough to make it as far as Devanon, then I've no doubt that she made it to Caithmor. She'll be a comfort to Gran.”

“She'll be furious that I'm not there.” Colm could see the expression on his sister's face now, her mouth working with silent rage, eyebrows furrowed. It was a look she'd inherited from their father. “And sad.”

“Well, that's what your letter's meant to allay,” Nichol said easily. “They'll be all right, the two of them.” He yawned and edged a little closer to Colm until they touched from thigh to chest.

“I think they will,” Colm agreed.

I think we all will.