The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (boyxboy)

CHAPTER 6

Aboard The Merry where they sail for weeks in search of something that doesn't exist and he's a burden at best and a prisoner at worst, there's a part of him that's being swallowed down by something dark.

He can't blame Ginger for the way he'd reacted to discovering Az's hidden heritage. If anything, he recognises it could have been a lot worse. But some ugly part of him won't stop whispering that it's Ginger's fault he's here in the first place.

~&~

The Oriana | Day 8

"So, kid," says Curly, the one with the erratic brown hair, as they finish one of the cook's over-salted delicacies. "Are you ever going to tell us what it is you're running from?"

Az glances around at the staring faces. They always look so expectant whenever they turn their eyes to him. He's never liked being the centre of attention, but it's somehow worse when the eyes watch in anticipation, waiting for him to dazzle them the way they dazzle him with their storytelling.

"Um..." he offers with a nervous laugh. What is he supposed to tell them? The truth? He'll be lucky if they don't throw him overboard right away. "Big angry harbourmaster?" he invents.

"Ye sure abou' that?" Handy Jim cackles, the man who in fact only has one arm.

"Oh, lay off, boys," Neo scolds. "He obviously doesn't want to talk about it."

"Surely we should know something about the kid we're running to the other side of the world?"

"Surely you've forgotten your manners," Tadala admonishes. The only way Az can tell Tadala apart from his twin Neo is through Tadala's slightly higher-pitched voice. Aside from that, the brothers are equally burly, with skin dark as night and matching braided hair.

"Come on," Curly tries. "What's a kid your age doing all the way out here with us? Haven't you got a family back there?"

And he does toy with the idea of telling them. Of just getting it over with and telling someone. In all honesty, he doesn't think they'd toss him overboard and leave him to drown. Sure, they'll probably kick him out once they next make port, but that was the original plan anyway.

Yet he can't. Shame, hot and prickling, curls around him at the thought of it. And his stomach bubbles with something acidic.

They're still looking.

"Not back there," he says. "I'm not from Albahri. I was born in a rural village west of there. Very west of there. You've probably never heard of it." Tahril, the name of his home village, teeters on the tip of his tongue, but he can't bring himself to say it. As if any of the people who'd made him want to leave would have told a soul what they'd done.

"What were you doing in Albahri then?"

"I...left home. When I was fourteen. The people where I'm from, they didn't like me much. I was born different from them. Mama — she'd been unfaithful, and they could tell when I came out that I wasn't from her husband. One night, not long after I turned fourteen..."

He can't. He wishes he could. He wants to. But it hurts, when he tries to even lie about it. It hurts as a ball swells in his throat and closes it shut so the words don't come. Az has an inkling, based on overheard conversations in Albahri, that the beliefs of those from his home are not universal. Is the risk even worth it?

"I left," he manages. "But it wasn't enough. I knew I wanted to be further away. As far as I could get, really."

"So how'd you survive the desert at night?" Curly goes on.