An Ocean of Lies (AFOS II)

Chapter 31: Jo

Dante had been gone a while. She was on her second mug of tea and Alaric snored peacefully now. The boat creaked with the fog's currents, the condensed droplets made a sound similar to rain on what was left of the hull. On occasion, she could hear faraway noises, songs from the abyss, creatures she really didn't want to meet: ever. Alaric tossed in his sleep, was that a good sign? He moved. It had to be a good thing. Braindead people didn't move, did they?

She finished the rest of her tea, snuggled on the blanket she snatched from Dante's cozy desk chair. The bottom of the ocean was cold, the firerocks didn't produce heat if they weren't in constant movement and they had nothing to burn down there. Except, maybe, furniture, but the blankets would suffice for the time being. Her wound was barely holding together with a cloth, it stung, she'd need stitches; the pain kept her mind occupied on something other than the cold.

Dante emerged from the hatch, the bottle of blood, her blood, nearly empty.

"Did it work?" Jo didn't even bother to stand up from the chair, or look at him. She stared at the bottom of the mug, contemplating the possibility of another cup. She wished to get her hopes up, but wouldn't allow it.

"I wouldn't know, I've never done this before, kid," he laughed, in the same nervous oh no we're all going to die way he'd been laughing since they sank. She knew another human, huh, revenant, mess when she saw it.

Jo curled and uncurled her toes. Her feet would fall off, eventually— well, she was being dramatic, but still. That tea, the blanket, it was nice, but it wasn't cutting it: drinking a nice soothing spirit would solve a myriad of problems, but it would be a terrible idea. Alaric was out cold and if the ship started floating, if they were under attack, they had to be ready, their senses sharp. Could revenants get drunk anyway? It wouldn't be fun, doing it on her own. She could spill something, something related to those dreadful tattoos on her arm, and that would be all. No drinking alone with Dante, except for tea. Tea would have to suffice.

She stretched her feet, then her legs. She touched the tip of her toes with her fingers, then lifted her arms. She could feel Dante staring at her, puzzled, maybe a little amused. Were all humans amusing to revenants?

Jo stood up to get another cup, the water in the kettle was already cold. She moved the firerocks inside the stove with an iron bar, up and down until the rocks created enough heat to boil what was left. She got another cup, for Dante, filled the kettle with more water from a glass bottle. He looked like he'd need one too. Well, maybe he didn't, but she didn't like to be stared at.

She put a cup with steaming tea in front of him, then sat on the chair she'd been occupying. Dante sat on the desk, he was tall enough to lean on it comfortably without having to jump.

"Why did you come with us? Why did you really come with us, I mean," Jo was tired of all that silence, and she'd been wondering. It was a good a time as any to ask, they could die anyway.

"Adventure? None writes about the skaldjaar, not really: there are legends, fiction—"

"No, there's something you're not telling me. You do a thing with your eye, it twitches: I think it's a nervous tell. I'm observant," she took a sip. "Besides, you jumped too quickly at the chance to travel with us, barely asked any questions. We could've been, I don't know, murderers."

"I know you're thieves, but murderers? Ha!" he laughed, truly, this time. Jo felt a little offended, did they look that inoffensive?

"We traveled with you because we were desperate: we took a chance. You took a chance too, you have no idea what we want to do up there, well, wanted to do. The trip is clearly over, Ontur's balls," she snorted.