Alaric jumped at him, fiercely. None would've imagined two seconds ago those gnarling lips had been kissing her own tenderly, especially not that guy. He looked like he was in his forties, not scrawny by any means but next to Alaric's magical enhancements he looked like a sad, redhaired, ragdoll. His beard was bushy, his hair long, tied up in a bun, but by the time Alaric was done with him, it looked like Wyn's on a bad day. Tangled and wild, like fire. Red haired people were scarce, at least to the south: having Ontur's hair color was heretic. Henna was encouraged. But in the middle of an island, hairstyles didn't matter much, clearly.
The man spat blood on the floor, his arms firmly pinned to the ground by Alaric. He didn't thrash or curse, or anything really, he just smiled, licking blood off his teeth. "People don't have manners anymore, do they? Kiddo, you're crushing my ribs up there, would you mind?" he was short of breath, for obvious reasons.
"Who are you? And why did you kidnap us?" Jo demanded. She put a foot on his shoulder, for show. It didn't do much, the guy was all muscle and Alaric was doing all the job, but she could feel a little in control, at least.
"You were trespassing on my land, weren't you, kid?" Alaric shoved him harder onto the ground, the man grunted. "Easy there. I need my arms, all that firewood doesn't chop itself, and it'll be a long winter," he spat blood. "Look, if anyone should be mad, it should be me: who sent you? How did you get here?"
"We just washed ashore, we're headed north," Jo said, "but it's none of your business. We were on our way out, but we lost our boat."
"Lies, kiddo. Lies," he coughed, spitting blood again. Alaric had done some damage to his insides, no doubt. "I have your map, and so it happens my island is marked in bright red, or did it slip your mind? You didn't get this far on a damn boat by not knowing how to read magical currents, which leads me to think you might not actually be as dumb as you look. Him, more than you, by the way," he whispered. Jo kicked him. "Well deserved, this time," he laughed coarsely.
"It's a stolen map, we didn't mark anything on it," she squinted.
"So, thieves huh? Hmm. You're not very good at it, then You leave tracks all over the place, come back to the kidnapper's house, make yourselves comfortable; were you going to make some dinner too? Creator's know I'm starving, after all that messing around with magic trinkets to put you down," he yawned.
"You're not a mage, then?" Jo asked. Alaric pressed him harder.
"Hey: You're in no position to ask any questions, it's my house, after all," he coughed, smiling.
Jo kneeled, she was so close she could smell his blood, his sweat, "really, now? This cleaver by your throat says otherwise, old man," she pressed it, lightly to his skin. Alaric raised his eyebrows, he didn't look like he disapproved, exactly.
"You're very demanding, for a couple of thieves," he lifted his chin, grinning defiantly, "and I'm not old, I'm vintage: there's a difference," he grimaced. He was in pain.
"We're not thieves. The way I see it, you're the thief, you took our shoes and our backpacks, our map. Rightfully stolen, alright? It's a long story. Look. My boyfriend here will let you go, unscathed, if you give us our stuff back and let us go. We won't bother you anymore, we don't even know who you are, and honestly? I don't give a crap," she straightened her blouse with her free hand.
"You don't know who I am?" he gasped. "Truly, now? I find that hard to believe," he raised an eyebrow.
"You're a madman living alone in an enchanted island, that's who you are," Alaric said, pinning him harder. "And you have our things, I suppose you can take this as a final warning to, maybe, give it back before I crush your throat with my foot, you know, that tube that lets you breathe is sitting right there," he brushed his throat with the tip of his toes.
"I wouldn't recommend it, suffocating to death isn't pretty, bleeding might be quicker," Jo pushed back the cleaver. "I'm rescinding my offer to cut your throat, by the way, too messy, and I don't have a change of clothes, because someone," she kicked him softly on the ribs, "took it," she put a hand on her waist. All that bluffing was making her hungry and very tired, could nothing ever go smoothly? Were all kidnappers so unreasonable?
"Superb craft, by the way, I always wanted one of those, they're incredibly difficult to find. I think I'm going to keep them," his voice was steadier now. "I saw you have one of my books in your enchanted backpacks, one of my best selling works, if you ask my editor, but I honestly couldn't care less. You may keep it, creators know I don't need any more copies," he crumpled his nose.
"No way," Jo squinted at him. That guy?
"You thought I'd be shorter? Thinner? I always get that," he laughed. "The muscles, people can deal with, but the hair puts people off, all the time; I never really venture out of the island without my wig, mind you. They're all the rage in Fonterra anyway, did you know the Imperatriz lost all her hair a few years back? Few people do. It was a curse, they say," he winked.
"You're Dante of Petrichor?" Jo laughed hysterically. It was ridiculous, did he think they were stupid?
"In the flesh," he said. "Nice to meet you, a real pleasure," he bowed with his head, as much as he could.
"But he's reclusive, none knows where he lives, or what he actually looks like: he never leaves without a mask," Alaric whispered.
"They say that, because it's true," Dante squirmed a little under him. "As you can see, I like my privacy, and I go to great lengths to keep it that way," his smile was strained now.
"I suppose you wouldn't sign our book, then," Alaric joked, but was he? That half bitten lip told her otherwise.
"If you let me go, maybe. But I'm afraid I can't let you go, not just like that, I hope you understand. I need you to tell me where you got this map, if there are others, and who I need to take care of," he squirmed again, his palms flat on the floor. Jo touched Alaric's arm, but he didn't notice her, apparently. "But I'm sure we can all talk like the civilized people we are," he freed himself with unnatural speed, pinning Alaric to the ground. "We've surprised each other twice now. Let's not see what happens after the third one: it never ends well. I'm a writer, I should know," his grin, toothy and menacing, yet playful, iced her blood.
Alaric looked at her as if waiting for instructions. He wasn't used to making decisions, like a good Onturian. She nodded, closing her eyes. Dante let go of him, fixing his clothes.
He sat them down on the kitchen table, making room among the books and dried herbs, boiling water for some tea. He looked like a lumberjack, not a writer, and the way he practically danced around his tiny kitchen, light on his feet, was uncanny. Awkward didn't begin to describe the mood as they waited. Alaric's eyes followed him as he fetched three mugs, as he gathered a teapot, dried leaves, honey. She knew that look. It was the same "I'm onto you" look he'd given Laurentius all those months ago, trying to figure out what exactly had been his deal. The man wasn't a mage, but he knew his way around magic. Perhaps he had enchanted items all over the place, alchemical tattoos, not as powerful as Koldo's but it could've been. Some people used them to be a little stronger, to change the color of their eyes, to heal a little faster, but the magic in them was always weak, particularly in non-mages. He had gotten his ass handed to him, maybe broken a couple of ribs, pierced a lung, but there he was, all springy, humming a little song, twitching his mustache. It had been a lot. Whatever he use to heal himself had been extremely powerful. He must've known dangerous dark mages, maybe even imagos. He kept wisps with him, maybe he was a wisp dealer. Maybe he knew spirit mages. She scratched her scar, absentmindedly.
"Drink your tea, it's not poisoned. If I'd wanted to kill you I would've done so already, kiddo: I'm more curious about you than angry, and thank the creators I'm not a damn cat," he shoved a mug towards Alaric, handed Jo hers softly. "Careful, there, it's hot. Wait for the honey to melt, let it steep a little. My bees make the best honey in the all the Southern regions, you'll never taste anything like it," he swirled his tea with a spoon, smelling the steam rising all the way up to his nose. "Now, tell me, kids. Who else knows I'm here? Did the Onturian Knights send you? You," he pointed at Alaric with his spoon " act like an onturian, but your aura looks wrong. You're not a Nivean, your blood hasn't been altered. Don't look at me like that: you can see it, if you really know what to look for," Jo glanced at Alaric, his fingers tensed around the mug, threatening to break it. Dante stirred his tea, his eyes fixed in the swirl right in the middle of it, "it looks fuzzy, around the edges, diluted. Yours is bright, contained, unlike a real Onturian's, hmm. No tendrils joining it to the others," he looked up, his lips slightly lifted up to the left. "Did you know that, if you follow an Onturian's trail, it leads right back to their promise vial, directly to the Cathedral of Mist? It works all the way around too, but... yes, of course you know that, just look at your face: I'd love to play cards with you some day, kiddo. Anyway. You don't have one, do you? You don't have a promise vial," Alaric's teeth were clenched so tight she could hear them grinding against each other.
"You're a revenant," he said, between his teeth.
"And here I thought we'd be here all night, well done, kid," he laughed, heartily, then drank his tea, coughing between sips. "Creators, this is great tea, drink up, will you? You don't want to waste it, it's one of a kind, from the gardens of the Emperor of Shonagon," he sipped.
"I'm lost," Jo put her mug down.
"He can see our auras, our live essences. Like wisps, but on people I suppose? That's the best explanation I can come up with, it's complicated. That's how they find their victims," Alaric mouthed the word, intently, "in the middle of the night, wherever they are, like big stinky mosquitoes."
"And that's how we manage to escape you, so easily," Dante raised his mug. "And I'm not stinky, I think you saw my bathroom? Best plumbing money can buy, alchemically filtered water, firerock-warmed pipes, you name it, kiddo," he sighed, dreamily? A man after her own heart, that revenant. The idea slowly settled in her mind: a revenant. A dangerous killing machine, drinking tea in front of her.
"Are you keeping us alive to drain our blood?" Jo pushed her mug away, slowly, reaching for the concealed cleaver behind her back.
"Well, you did release my wisps. And you're trespassing," he pondered. How did he know about the wisps? He could probably sense them, who knew what their auras looked like to a creature like him. "But no, I was just messing with you. I don't get many visitors, it gets lonely in here, and I've fed, recently, one wisp can keep a revenant alive, well, alive by human standards, for, let's say, about a month? maybe two if you don't mind stinking a little, losing a couple of toenails," he shrugged. "Like I said, I'm curious. I wanted to question you separately, but plans change, nothing to do about it," he drank more tea. "An Onturian, unpromised. Very interesting, but also, potentially dangerous. But, look: I'm inclined to believe you're not here to hurt me. For now," he pointed his beardy chin at him. "And you. I'm very curious about you, girl. I watched you, as soon as you got here, the two of you. What are the chances, heh? Two anomalies, washing ashore on my doorstep," he scratched his beard.
"What's so odd about me? I'm just a barmaid," Jo took the mug, dug her face in it.
"Your aura begs to differ, kid. It's bright, blinding. It leaves a dark path behind, as if— you're eating the magic around it, from the trees, the grass, even your friend here," he pressed his lips. "Made me wonder if you're like me, a revenant, only slightly more efficient," he chuckled, "between us, I don't really like the taste of blood, and wisps are really hard to come by," he whispered.
Alaric stood from his chair, Jo right next to him.
"I'm not a revenant," she crossed her arms. "You're wrong. Now, I think you learned everything you wanted to know, right? Give us our stuff back, we need to get going, unless you're planning to eat us anyway," she clenched her fists. She focused, like back on that shed, gathering the magic inside her, ready to unleash it onto him in any form: she wasn't picky. Fire, ice, anything would do.
"How are you doing that?" he leaned forward, scratching his beard again. "Mages lose their powers when they become revenants, you can't be both. Creators, kid: what are you?" he recoiled, but his eyes remained fixated, fascinated.
"You don't want to find out," Alaric bluffed. Jo could see a twitch in the corner of his lip, a tremor in his eye. But the revenant was too focused on her to notice.
"Look, stop. Fine, I'll let you go, I'm too old for this shit. If you won't believe I don't want to hurt you, then, by all means," he ran his hands through his fiery hair. "I know when I'm outmatched. Yes, we can heal fast, but we're not immortal, no matter what they say," he laughed nervously. He walked near the fireplace, to the living room. Under a rug, a latch, and underneath, their backpacks, the map. "On second thought," he clutched the backpacks. "You don't have a boat. If I let you go, how will you get out of here? Swimming?" he laughed, "good luck with that," he threw the backpacks at them. "Unless, well. I happen to own a skipper. I need it to go from A to B, deliver manuscripts to my editor, that sort of thing. Go buy wisps, find unsuspecting victims in the cities when I run out of them... It'll be a tight fit, but there'll be enough room if one of us stays on deck during the night, and it's not like I need to sleep anyway," he shrugged. Oh, he was inviting himself, why did people invite themselves to dangerous places? And what if they said yes, what would keep him from deciding he needed a magic refill in the middle of the trip? She wasn't anyone's blood bag in an alchemist healer's clinic.
"We could just take it from you," Jo said.
"Right, fear the mighty map thieves of the Fog Ocean! Now here to steal your skippers," he laughed. "You're good people, I can tell. You didn't murder me, I didn't murder you back, I think you could say we can trust each other," he paced. "And I'm all out of wisps, thanks to you. I need to go out and get some more, maybe feed on actual dangerous thieves. Skaldjaar blood is particularly spicy," he licked his lips. "You're going north, there's only one thing up north on this side of the Fog Ocean: Skaldjaar territory. And death, but both are arguably the same thing," he opened his arms, his eyes jumping from one to the other.
"You want to come along," she said. He wouldn't budge, would he?
"Well, since you mention it, I wouldn't mind, really," he pretended to be coy, "I could learn more about you, kid. Taking magic to sustain myself, without having to lift a finger, sounds like a dream," he sighed, wistfully. "Look, kids: I don't sleep, did I mention that? Which is why I've taken to writing, what else was I supposed to do, cross stitching, with these fingers?" he lifted his rugged hands. "So we could leave right now, why waste time? You can sleep on the ship, leave the sailing to me. I could use a good story for my next book anyway, it's hard to come up with entertaining tales cooped up in here with just me as a company," he shrugged. "I'm this close to painting a face onto a rock and calling it Willie."
"We need to discuss it," Jo said, hoping Alaric would come up with a plan to leave alone together, but, alas, they were both out of ideas. They couldn't buy the boat from him, they couldn't steal it, his reflexes were too fast and he'd see them coming. What they could do, though, was dump him at the first chance, board another ship, steal another boat. Traveling with a dangerous bloodsucker, with nothing but ocean and fog surrounding them, was insane by some people's standards, but they were out of options. And they weren't just some people.
Ten minutes later, standing on a rotten pier, staring at that tiny skipper, covered in runes, they stared at each other. Jo held Alaric's hand tight: that revenant better not get hungry for magic in the middle of the trip.