2. The Port of Biscay

Birger was always the first to rise; then Sachie, then Avery. He enjoyed the quiet of the early morning—the tittering song of whatever local birds were in the area; the crisp air, and the slice of searing red light that rimmed the horizon as the sun crested. Today was no different. Birger rose and stretched with a soft grunt, and smiled down at Avery, who remained deeply asleep. He had kicked off their blanket at some point during the night and was shivering, so Birger bundled him back up, expertly wrapping his sides and gently tucking the blanket beneath his chin—swaddling him like the big baby he sometimes acted. The mage’s agitated sleeping face went serene as a lax smile graced his lips, which warmed Birger and stirred him to kiss him.

As much as he had been in love with Einar, Birger never felt compelled to act in such a doting way. In fact—in hindsight—their relationship away from the bedchamber had been rather dispassionate. The realization of that lingered with Birger as he dressed, pulling his newly acquired sweater over his linen undertunic, and tugging on a pair of loose-fitted trousers, which he secured with a fine leather belt (given to him by Avery). He quickly combed and partly braided his hair and headed out to prepare breakfast.

He had foraged some mushrooms during their trek through the forest the previous day and settled on sautéing them with a generous amount of butter. He’d top the dish off with a few fried eggs—if the eggs in his possession had survived their journey thus far…which they thankfully had. With his bearded axe in hand, Birger wandered around their small camp, gathering fire kindling and fallen branches while savoring the sights and forfeiting himself to his senses—primarily to the smell of the damp grass, dirt, and ancient wood. It was a chillier day than yesterday, and the wind carried the scent of the ocean. After a few weeks of traveling, they were finally approaching the Port of Biscay, where Ruslan lived. The rugged and verdant mountainous backdrop had changed to sparse forests and large swaths of rolling grasslands.

Birger swept his foot through the ashes of his previous fire, and began laying down the kindling for a new one. He pulled out his quartz and steel striker, and with one fluid stroke produced a spark. He blew life into the tiny flames, adding branches, gently blowing, and adding more branches. Once his fire was self-sustaining, Birger gathered his pan and ingredients to begin cooking. The entire process enlivened him like nothing else. There was something incredibly satisfying about turning raw ingredients into a well-rounded meal, and then serving that sustenance to the people he cared for, nourishing them. This was love. Food was love.

Sachie—awoken by the smell of breakfast, no doubt—was the first to stagger out of her tent. She crept up behind Birger’s hunched over frame, and plastered herself against his back, hugging him from behind as he waited for the whites of the eggs to set.

“What’s for brekkie?”

“Mushrooms and eggs.”

“Ew,” she said. “I hate the texture of mushrooms.”

“Tough,” he said with a smile. He heard her grumble and felt her face press between his shoulder blades.

To both her and Birger’s surprise, Avery opened the flap of his tent and crawled out. He was dressed in his usual manner—ostentatious yet somehow still tasteful, wearing a rich ink blue coat over a cream tunic and dark leggings—bright-eyed and fully awake, which was unlike him at such an early time. He tugged on his thigh-high boots before walking over.

“That smells good,” he said as he bent to help himself to Birger’s coffee. He gripped along the rim of the mug, pinky out—his signet ring caught the morning light. “Mushrooms?”

Birger nodded, and Sachie slunk off his back to perch herself beside him on the log.

“Yum,” Avery said into his mug, then sipped while Birger plated their portions, trying to ignore how good Avery smelled. Akin to delicate, dried flowers with something more traditionally masculine…earthy, warm like wood left out in the sun after a light rain. Birger was addicted to it.

“I can’t believe you’re up right now,” Sachie said, taking the portion offered to her. She immediately started fishing the mushrooms out and placed them onto Birger’s plate.

“You seem to be in a good mood too,” Birger added, handing over Avery’s serving.

“I’m excited to meet this friend of Eyvind,” Avery said as he lounged back with his plate of food. “To meet another Collector and have them guide me through our ways is a blessing. I won’t have to explain or defend myself, and for that I am excited.”

“Do you think there will be other mages?” Sachie asked. “Other Collectors?”

Avery glanced at Birger, who shrugged one shoulder. “Eyvind didn’t mention any others.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “But I know he said that Ruslan was lonely. Maybe once he’s helped a mage, he sends them on their way.”

“That’s very unlike a Collector,” said Avery as he helped himself to a spoonful.

“Why’s that?” Sachie asked.

He pursed his lips, considering for a moment. “We’re selfish.” And Avery said nothing further, opting to tuck into his meal. He caught Birger’s eye, though, gaze flirtatious, color in his cheeks. He liked the food. Birger dipped his chin down, shying away from his attention, though his lips betrayed him, pulling into a small smile of his own.

Sachie chewed as she watched. She had become privy to all manner of glances between the two men. They did this more and more often. Staring all goo-goo-eyed at one another, whispering, brushing their fingers as they walked. Shit like that. She found it both fascinating and unbearable. She almost preferred it when they were bickering, but fucking loudly at night. It felt more human to her. Whatever this evolution was was sickly sweet and it felt fragile. Like at any moment their cute glances could turn into looks of contempt. She excused herself and Avery quickly filled the space she left behind.

His lips were over the pulse of Birger’s neck in an instant, easily rousing him in a variety of ways. Birger almost surrendered to his affections, but he denied himself the pleasure and turned, cupping the mage’s cheek to chastely kiss him. “We won’t make it to Ruslan’s today if you continue like this.”

“And?” Avery kissed Birger again, lingering on his lips, tongue caressing his before pulling away to whisper, “What’s another day?”

The Collector’s madness that Eyvind had warned him about. Another day meant another day closer to…that, and Birger couldn’t allow that to happen. He reluctantly pulled away and Avery frowned, misunderstanding it as a slight. But before he could rise with a huff, Birger took his hand.

“I’m worried about you.”

Avery stared at him and Birger wondered if that was the wrong thing to say. But before the knight could spiral with regret, Avery’s eyes softened. “I’m fine. I know you think I’m not. That I am on the precipice of insanity. That—any moment now—I’ll lose my wits and darken the sky and hurl lightning bolts down on you and Sachie.” He laughed, eyebrows raising. “The only thing out of sorts is my damn magic. But mentally? Never felt better!” He smiled a little too wide and lopsided—dimple straining—and Birger wasn’t convinced. He caught Sachie’s eye in the distance and frowned when she held a finger up to the side of her head, circling the digit and rolling her eyes this way and that.

***

The Port of Biscay was unlike anything the three had explored during their travels together. It was a massive, bustling metropolis situated at the base of a dormant volcano, with winding, blinding white stone stairs woven between cerulean thatched buildings. It was the gateway, and heart of eastern Urnia, inhabited with a multitude of cultures. The fashions and people were varied, and they mingled together, fueled by a united desire for commerce. Everyone walked fast here, strides with destinations in mind, no time for dawdling, though that is what our three did, lumbering along slowly, overwhelmed by the sights and high energy. Mouths agape, eyes wide.

“How could Ruslan be lonely with this at his doorstep?” Avery wondered aloud. A storefront window display of colorfully clad mannequins caught his eye. Salivating, he drifted over before the two could respond or even notice his departure.

“Let’s keep close,” Birger said without looking at them, his eyes still taking in the passing people and sights. “There’s probably pickpockets just waiting for people like us to wander in. Swindlers and rogues thrive in towns like this…” He turned, and both Avery and Sachie were gone.

Birger let out a panicked yelp and turned, right, then left, then right again, trying to spot a blue coat or a high burgundy horsetail. Having lost them both, he gave up with a groan, hands palming down his face, dragging skin, rough over his stubble. Of course the two would meander away… Birger was tempted too. As soon as they had arrived, he considered visiting the chef supply stores… He was in need of a new pan… Birger froze in the middle of the busy pathway, unsure of what to do and how to proceed. A shoulder-check from a passerby made him whip around and snarl, nostrils flared, startling a few, for which he immediately felt foolish. He tried to make himself look smaller as he moved, following the swift flow of people. Giving in to the hunt for a new pan that he so desperately wanted.

They had arrived at the port around noon, and five hours had already passed. Birger had long given up searching for them, and with what little bullions he had on him he bought himself a new pair of boots, a bar of lavender-scented soap, and a new iron pan. Hungry, he found a tavern at the top of a hill and ordered a lamb pie—the salt meadows to the south had fostered delicious sheep—along with a pint of their local brew. He was mid-meal when someone plopped down across from him at his table. He looked up, scowling, but when he saw it was Avery, he relaxed.

“Where have you been?”

The mage smiled, eyes crescented, nose pinched. “Around.” And then he leaned over, forearms folded on the table, lips parted, awaiting a sample of Birger’s pie.

“It’s been hours,” Birger huffed, but he relented, offering Avery a substantial bite.

Avery appeared very pleased with himself as he chewed and sat back. It didn’t seem as if he had purchased anything, but then again he did have a spell for squirreling stuff away.

Sachie joined them soon after, dropping a well-worn pouch filled with what sounded like bullions and other valuables. She sat beside Avery and playfully slugged his arm.

“Ow!?” He rubbed the impact spot, eyes misting.

“So, Ruslan made an island,” she said suddenly, and then waved at the server for her attention.

Avery glanced at the pouch. “A what? How do you know that?”

“I asked around,” she replied as if it were obvious. “He lives on a tidal island that he created, in a big ol’ castle, apparently. The locals call it the Tidelands Castle.”

“He…made an island?” Birger had never heard of such a thing. “And the castle?”

“Yeah, he made that too.” She turned to the server. “A round for us three.” She grinned at her companions. “On me.”

Birger pursed his lips. He had been worried about swindlers and rogues, but he was already traveling with one…maybe two. He reached for the pouch, but Sachie slapped his hand away.

“Ah-ah! Rude.” She opened it anyway and dumped the contents out, divvying up the bullions and trinkets. Her pile was slightly larger. “Here Av.” She handed him a golden armlet adorned with a single amethyst. “Does it augment?”

His eyes went sparkly as he accepted it. “Hard to tell straight away. I’ll have to attune with it.”

Birger reluctantly stashed his portion of spits. “Thank you, Sachie.” He cleared his throat. “How do we get to this Tidelands Castle?”

“We can reach the island when the tide is low.” The server set down three earthenware mugs, generously sized and frothy. The trio leaned forward in their seats, slobbering. Sachie looked up at the server, who winked at her before sauntering away. Sachie tilted back as her eyes followed her retreat, only returning her attention when Avery moaned grossly into his mug.

“Divine.”

Birger drank. It was significantly better than the pint he had had. He set the mug down and thumbed the froth from his upper lip. “Do you know anything else? About Ruslan?”

Sachie drank before replying, “Eccentric guy, apparently. Seems like the locals tolerate him out of…honestly, I don't know if it’s fear or something else. The people I asked were wondering why I even wanted to know, let alone go there. Sounds like he doesn’t get many visitors.”

Avery was too occupied with his drink to comment.

Birger sighed, apprehensive, but Eyvind wouldn’t steer him wrong. He hadn’t even realized he was nervously picking at the scratches on the table until Sachie placed her warm hand over his.

Avery pah’ed! and slumped, cheeks already rosy, limbs loose. “I love this place.” Eye love dzees playse.

***

It was sundown when the three finally emerged from the tavern, fully stuffed, and fairly inebriated. Avery and Sachie came tumbling out, linked arm-in-arm, sloppily whirling one another around and around in an attempt to dance, accompanied by their harsh rendition of a popular, jaunty folk song. Avery pulled away to do a strange little jig, shuffling and stomping his feet in a frenetic sort of way while Sachie clapped a brisk beat.

“Alright, alright, enough,” Birger slurred, grabbing Avery to hold him upright and out of the way. “Sachie, where is it? Ruslan’s castle.”

She laughed for some reason and stumbled, righting herself with a serious face and pointing at someone in a threatening manner as they rushed past her. “We just gotta,” she gestured with her arm, one fluid outward motion, “walk along the shore. We’ll see it.”

So, they ventured onward, accompanied by the heady scent of Jasmine flowers. The town had quieted some, the activity now post-business and leisurely. Gas lamps flickered overhead in the sea breeze as they traveled down steep winding stairs and through the tight alleyways of closed shops. Compact food carts were setting up for the night, seizing Birger’s attention as they passed by them. Now there’s an idea, he thought, a food cart, huh? He smiled and hefted Avery along.

It wasn’t long before they made it to the flat sandy shore and saw the tidal island with its grand castle atop a mound. It was breathtaking—almost otherworldly—surrounded by water, with the dusk backdrop of vivid purples and hazy blues. Romantic, with its impressive spire and twinkling lights. The tide was low enough now for crossing, and close enough to reach in perhaps an hour if they hurried. They’d have to in case sea level rose while they crossed. He wasn’t sure if Sachie or Avery could swim.

“Fuck me—would you look at that,” Sachie said, hands on her hips, swaying back and forth a little. “Looks like we can cross too.”

With his arm still draped over Birger’s shoulders—and on his tiptoes due to their differences in height—Avery lifted his head, roused by the low pitch of the pounding surf. He gasped upon seeing the castle in the distance, and pulled away from Birger, and with a childlike glee began running across the shore towards the tidal island, his pretty boots slapping wet sand.

Sachie followed after, but Birger lingered behind. It was quite the sight, beautiful really—he glanced behind him at the port town—but odd. Very odd. Accessible only during low tide… Who was Ruslan keeping out? Birger hefted his rucksack and followed—uneasy.