The boy Emerald plucked from the water slept soundly. The poor Son of Aten had passed out the second he collapsed in Emerald’s bed about two hours ago. It had taken some coaxing, but the skittish boy finally relented to Emerald’s encouragement.

The Son of Aten wore exhaustion like a second skin from the second he was pulled from the water, and Emerald didn’t blame him for his hesitation to leave himself so unguarded no matter how much he needed the sleep. Emerald also had no qualms about giving his bed up for the night, thankful the kid finally relented. Whatever ordeal had put the bags under the boy’s eyes and left him shivering in the water for so long was probably much worse than a night spent in his desk chair.

Emerald was more concerned with what to make of the kid than sleep, anyway. 

The boy had no tattoos that Emerald could see—not even apprenticeship markings—so he had either yet to choose a school, or was privileged enough to not require a trade. The boy didn’t understand the words of Set, which meant he lacked a classical education and contradicted the privileged son theory. Emerald frowned and rubbed between his eyes. To make contradictions grander, the boy didn’t seem to understand his own tongue either. Emerald’s pronunciation of the Words of Aten was as subpar as you’d expect from a Son of Set, but he did enough business with the Children of Aten to know it was understandable.

The Words of Anubis and Osiris didn’t work either. So, with the extent of Emerald’s language skills exhausted, he was out of luck with verbal communication. To make matters worse, Emerald couldn’t even start to place the boy’s dialect when the kid did manage to say a small word or two.

But even more baffling than that, the boy had been confused by the world map when Emerald tried to get him to point out where the kid was from. Emerald hadn’t seen a child stare that blankly at a map since they were in their first cycles of school and learned that the world was bigger than their town block.

A light rap sounded at his quarter’s door. When the boy didn’t stir from the noise, Emerald whispered, “Come in.”

“Captain?” Vin asked. He kept his voice low to match Emerald’s whisper. “Did he tell you what a Son of Aten was doing way out here in Set’s Ocean?”

“I don’t know,” Emerald said. Vin wore the nicer of his two shirts for this encounter, likely to show his superiority to the Aten Child. The lacing on the edge of the yellow sleeves stood out against his worn brown slacks. Emerald rubbed at his bare bicep, suddenly feeling dressed down as the higher authority. He pulled out a shirt from the short dresser under his desk. “He didn’t understand my Words, or even my attempt at his.”

“Is there something wrong with him?” Vin asked, tapping his temple. He made a move to sit, but stopped seeing the table closer to the wall to make room for Emerald’s chair next to the bed. Vin huffed when he spotted the child asleep under the covers. Emerald hoped he held his tongue on the supposed inappropriateness of the situation. “He stupid or something?”

“No, there was intelligence in his eyes,” Emerald said. He pulled the loose shirt over his shoulders, his hands lingering on the bottom edge of the shirt after he pulled it all the way down. “But I don’t think he’s from Aten.”

“What?” Vin looked over at the boy. “Blue eyes, pale skin, and hair that gold? What else could he be but a Son of Aten?”

“Lower your voice.” Emerald watched the boy twitch and pulled the blanket up tighter around his frame. Emerald probably should have insisted he remove the wet clothing, but the boy had been shaking badly enough from nerves. The last thing the poor child needed was to be stripped by a stranger with no comprehension of what was happening. “I’m aware that he is a Son of Aten, I just do not believe he grew up among his people. He seems too sheltered and doesn’t even know his own Words. It’s possible he was adopted by another group.”

“So what are we going to do with him, sir?” Vin crossed his arms, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “Need I remind you that we have rations for four, not five.”

“I’ll split mine with the boy, so don’t worry about that.” Emerald tapped his finger on the table. “I’m not asking you or the crew to give up yours.”

“That’s not,” Vin sighed, “what I meant.”

“I know.” Emerald brushed a bit of blond hair from the boy’s face. He couldn’t have been more than forty or fifty cycles. Kids that young had no place out alone in the middle of an ocean, even if they were old enough to start up an apprenticeship. Emerald wondered where the child’s parents could be, and how worried they were. “We’ll make a stop at Light Harbor and drop him off with the local authorities.”

“I’ll let the crew know about the deviation.” Vin nodded his head before excusing himself from the room. 

As silence fell again, with only the boy’s light breathing filling the space, Emerald let his head rest against the back of the chair. He crossed his arms and did his best to doze while he could. It’d be hard to think if he was falling asleep on his feet earlier.

Thankfully, the boy woke a few hours later, and there truly was no mistaking the famous sapphire blue eyes of the Sons of Aten. 

Emerald sat back as the boy drank in the sight of everything those blue eyes could capture. The boy appeared timid, drawn in on himself and hands clenched, but there was no denying his curiosity. Emerald rubbed the red stone embedded in his necklace, the chain clinking under his fingers. With the blank looks they received with their efforts to communicate, it only made his curiosity grow.

Just where had the Son of Aten come from?

Emerald sat next to the boy on the upper deck situated above his cabin. Emerald had originally chocked up the boy’s odd attire to a poor family. Beggars couldn’t be choosers of fashion, but now that it was light out and he had a better look, the kid seemed healthy enough for someone dragged out of the water, and Emerald had to back track his original theory. He could tell from the boy’s weight that he was well cared for, and had access to better medicine if his straight, white teeth were any indication. The Son of Aten had to be from a well off family at the very least, if not outright wealthy, his lack of education aside.

He was tiny, though, and the boy drowned in the borrowed clothes.

His previous clothes were uncomfortable even to look at, stiff from the dried salt water. Emerald had insisted the boy borrow a set of clothes from his chest, regretting they were two or three sizes too large for the small frame. At least the loose clothing had to feel better than the crust-coated set he had been wearing. Emerald watched the boy climb up the railing edge to stare down at the opening in the middle of the main deck where they dumped their day’s catch. “Don’t lean too far or you’ll fall, kid.”

The boy jerked back at Emerald’s harsh tone, but the lack of understanding was clear in the boy’s eyes. He wondered if there was point in talking to the lad at all, but if one heard something enough it was possible to pick up the meaning. It was probably good for him to hear the Words of Set as often as possible if that was really the case. After all, Aten and Set were neighboring countries.

Emerald watched the lad back away from the opening, and take a seat on a barrel. He kept his eyes down, and his hands buried in his sleeves. Every once in a while, he the boy would glance at the ocean, but quickly turn his gaze back to the ship’s floor. Very sheltered, and landlocked. The boy looked as if such a large body of water was impossible to comprehend.

Emerald knew the feeling well, thinking back on the first time he had laid eyes on its beauty. He didn’t feel worthy to take in its graces. It had taken all of three seconds to decide on his future occupation as a sailor and a fisherman, and spent the rest of his life training to earn the right to wear a Captain’s markings. Emerald pulled his sleeve back—he had decided to actually wear his shirt today—to see the delicate markings around his wrist that he had worked so hard for.

The ocean was a glorious body, holding beauty and adventure that his home of Set could never offer.

Emerald heard the boy shout, and looked up to see Vin ‘apologizing’ for knocking into him with the mop’s back end. The boy slipped off the barrel and went around to the other side to give Vin a wider berth. Emerald would need to keep an eye on Vin until they dropped the lad off. Emerald didn’t mind Sons of Aten himself, but Vin had a rough history with the country and that sort of antagonism was difficult to suppress.

---

It took a couple days, but Volker had gotten used to people talking around him.

The harsh, guttural language the fishermen spoke set his back straight and hairs on end at first, but after listening more carefully, he could tell it was normal conversation. Volker compared it to his grandfather’s German: Harsh and scary sounding when he was little, but familiar and comforting after a few visits. Once it stopped making him flinch, it was easier to pay attention to things like the facial expressions that matched the pitches. Volker even picked up the changes in tone as the people around him spoke from gentle jokes to angry hissing.

Volker had the gentle captain, the guy who had pulled Volker from the water, and a constantly irritated guy with shorter hair to thank for that.

Mr. Second, the name Volker had dubbed the grumpy man, and the captain were almost always together during the day. The captain laughed and spoke normally like his grandfather whenever they were together, while Mr. Second screamed at Volker every chance he got—and worse. Volker made an effort to stay to the inside of the deck more than he usually would to avoid the ocean just to get away from that guy. One too many times hit with the back of a broom was enough of a hint to realize Mr. Second might actually be trying to push him overboard.

At least dodging brooms knocked his boredom down a few notches.

When not avoiding cleaning equipment, Volker spent most of his time sitting and watching everyone. He ate when he was handed food and he slept when the sun went down. Dinner was the best when they ate the meat of those weird crab creatures the crew kept pulling out of the water. Right after dinner, everyone but the captain went under deck to the small crew quarters and their hammocks Volker had seen earlier when the captain gave him a quick tour of the ship. Volker figured he’d be shoved down there with the others, but the captain insisted on him sleeping in the main cabin’s bed every night. 

Volker pulled his feet up on the top of the barrel, wrapping his arms around his knees. The oversized shirt hung loosely, and Volker pulled it over his hands, covering as much skin as possible. It kept Mr. Second and the two deck hands from staring at his blank arms. It was an odd thing, but Volker felt naked next to everyone else’s tattoos. At the same time, he was also sort of glad that was one bit of trouble he never managed to get into back home. The crew’s tattoos seemed too purposed to be decorative. Volker was terrified to think of what some random symbol picked out by a drunken gang peer might have meant.

The tattoo pattern style was the same for everyone on the boat: a circular lace design repeated over and over. They appeared in strips that circled their bodies, with small alleys of bare skin between each section. All of them had a ring with a denser pattern around their neck. The two shipmates who left Volker alone only had one two inch ring around the center of their neck. Mr. Second had a lower tattoo just below his neckline that that covered his shoulders, like a skintight cape that stopped at the top of his bicep. He couldn’t tell if the man had any others, though. If he did, they were hidden under his clothes.

The captain had the most. From the neck down there were rings of varying thickness covering his body all the way down to his wrists and ankles. Volker wondered if it was some sort of status thing and rubbed at his bare wrists under the sleeves.

What did it mean if you didn’t have any?

Volker stiffened when he felt a hand drop on his head. He turned to see the captain smiling at him. He said something soothing and ruffled Volker’s hair before dropping a piece of neon pink fruit in Volker’s hands. He waited for Volker to take a bite from the offered treat before he headed down the stairs to help the two deck hands with the netting.

The captain was slowly turning into Volker’s security blanket and best friend on the death trap of a boat. He was just so nice. Juice dropped down his chin and he wiped it away with the back of his palm. The smell of sugar and something close to pomegranate clung to his hand. Volker sniffed it as his insides wriggled at the thought of the captain doting on him, squirming in confusion. Strangers weren’t supposed to be this friendly, or care so much.

People only looked out for themselves.

Volker’s mother seemed to be the only exception since his grandparents passed away. And even that was almost an obligation on her part. His uncle had only hired him as a favor to his mother to keep him away from his older “friends.” Not that they were really friends. Getting shoved around by a few older people he knew was just better than getting beat up for running into the wrong person. And even they ditched him the second he decided to take his uncle up on the offer to help in the shop instead of stealing.

So if his friends were bad, strangers were even worse. Anyone you met on the street who was ‘kind’ usually wanted something back. Volker had made that mistake once already, and it left him with a one-inch gash across his stomach from the edge of a switchblade and a week of waking in cold sweats.

The captain was different, though, and it made Volker nervous. He was getting too relaxed around that man, but…Volker took another bite from the fruit, and watched the man throw netting back and forth below. The captain hadn’t done anything to Volker. He didn’t try and hurt him. He didn’t shove him around, or try to take anything from him. The captain hadn’t even tried to touch him during the entire time Volker had slept unguarded.

He let Volker be on the ship and talked to him once in a while to keep him from being too lonely. The captain always smiled as he talked, a big dumb grin on his face almost as if he liked having Volker around.

Volker wasn’t sure if he liked the feeling that pooled in his gut at the thought.

---

Oils lifted the kettle from the burner and poured a cup of green-colored tea. His hand held steady as he poured, but his brow drew together in irritation. Oils hated anything that ruined routine, or his ability to predict behaviors. And yet here it was: Nile wanted tea.

It was an odd request from the young man, as he usually favored coffees as his bitter drink of choice. And if not coffee, he always wanted something sweet like sugared juice. Tea was almost never a request. He stopped the pour of the tea, inhaling the sweet aroma of his personal favorite blend. He exhaled and counted to ten. Oils choose to see it as a good sign instead of something to breed worry. Perhaps his young master had finally taken to heart all of Oils subtle hints that tea was good for him.

He set the tea kettle back on the burner, and adjusted the clear glass cup just so on the tray. He added a small silver spoon on top of the deep blue napkin and placed a sugar dish with matching tongs on the side of the tray. The sugar dish held six cubes: two for Nile, and four extra to keep the dish from appearing empty.

“Hello, Oils,” a sultry voice called out from behind the man. It was deep, soothing, and sent goosebumps down Oils’ arms. It was that woman. “How goes your hunt for the Heart, darling?”

Oils stilled. He waited two seconds, listening to the woman breathing behind him. He wrapped his fingers around the silver tray handles, and lifted the dish set. Oils answered the intruder without lifting his head. “You have some nerve coming here, Horus Witch.”

“Please, Oils. You don’t have to be so cold to me,” she said. He turned around as the Witch drew her index finger along the bottom edge of her lip. “You know I love it when you say my name.”

“You used a spell to take something from my master that he desired.” Oils transferred the tray to one hand, and turned off the small ship’s kitchen stove. The tea stayed level in the cup as he glided across the room, each step smooth and controlled as a gentleman’s should. “If you think I owe you a kindness, you are sorely mistaken, wench.”

The woman walked with a swagger laden with earned confidence to enter his line of sight from the side. She blocked his path, refusing to be ignored. Her skin was still the color of faded blueberries, almost the color of the sky during a clear morning in midday. Her hair was as white as snow, and her eyes were a sickly pale yellow. Every inch of her showed off her heritage as a Daughter of Horus and it disgusted Oils to no end.

Horus and Anubis shared a love of the world’s great magics, and were gifted among all the other nations and surrounded countries, but that didn’t mean they were required to get along.

Even doubly so when your hatreds were reserved for one member of their people. The Horus Witch had been a pain in Oils’ side for longer than he could recall. But that was always the way it worked when people knew your secrets, wasn’t it?

“Unless you’ve come to return the Heart of Anubis that you banished to another world, I suggest you leave,” Oils said. He held the tray with one hand, and used the other to push the woman aside with the back of his hand. She stood to his side, smirking like a harlot. Oils removed his hand from her, his stomach churning from the touch. “Or I’ll be forced to gut you.”

“Temper, temper, Oils. Keep that up and just see how long it takes me to say hello again.” She shrugged, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. She played with the strap of her dress, pulling it up and down, rolling it between her fingers. “You two will never get the Heart, you know. Give up and save yourselves some dignity, Oils. I know how fond you are of it.”

“I don’t know why you continue to interfere, but I assure you that you are wrong.” Oils opened the cabin door. The wind on the deck picked up, blowing his short hair across his face. The wind licked at his bare neck, and the chill was nothing compared to the stare of that wretched, meddling woman. “I promise you that.”

“We’ll see, Oils.” The witch murmured, before vanishing from the cabin.

Oils stood in the door, holding the tray. Steam wafted from the cup in a thing white smoke in the chill air.