WIP Wednesday - PK 45 and Bathymetry

Just for kicks, we're posting a bit of one of the stories that will be going up at some point in the future as well as this week's chapter.

First, in the main story --

* * *
Julia
* * *

I'm enjoying the rare but predictable peace and quiet I get when almost my entire division manages to kill itself off.  It'll take long enough for them to grow out of childhood that I'll have a nice break. Maybe a few days... maybe a little less.

So of course, I don't expect Jhe h'Akribastes to contact me, but sure enough--

Jhe Wysthaven?  Report.

I crack a smile.  All quiet and clear, in my corner.

He snorts.  Of course.  Lucky.  He sighs.  He seems to be busy arranging a trip, apparently with multiple parties.  I sense Jhe Katherine on the edge of his thoughts - looks like they couldn't keep her in the nursery for long.  As expected.  I need you to arrange for security.  I'm leading an excursion into Audiva Rocale and taking the Peacekeeper and the Gahalespbar-archo with me.

I raise an eyebrow.  Certainly that is worth noting.  What are my resources?  Troops are a bit thin right now... the Peacekeeper usually would command the main army.

He pauses.  Go through the necessary procedures to direct them if you must, but...  There's a certain weariness to his thoughts as they march forward.  Almost a kind of dread.  For this type of incursion, I doubt they will be the necessary counter.

Then who shall I rally, sire?

Another pause, as if he's trying to decide something.  If it comes to it, arm the Poets.

Then there's silence, and I'm left to contemplate just what sort of threat would necessitate an army of crazed loons.

* * *

"Bathymetry" takes place before the novels. Um, right around seventeen years prior, if I'm doing my math right. If I'm not, blame Irk. ANYWAY. For those of you out there who love Elete and would like more of him --

* * *
Elete
* * *

The ocean nips my bare toes.  I notice it simply because it's better than noticing anything else.  

The water this time of year is that deep, electric cold that, when it contacts your skin, has it's own peculiar burning heat.  As I stand there, watching my feet sink into the sand, I watch the bare skin on top of my feet first turn a shocking pink, then a grayish-purple.  

I don't have to wonder how it would feel to sink into that frigid surf, feel the ice close over my head and steal the air from my lungs.  My wife remembered it for me as she died, and my daughter -- I am grateful that my daughter was unable to do the same.  I have only my own imagination to tell the fine details of her demise.

The wind whips my hair, stinging my cheeks as it changes direction with the sunset breeze.  I shift my weight, pulling one foot out with a soft pop before shifting my weight and freeing the next.  I step forward, the soaked hems of my robes gaining an instant of buoyancy before pulling down with additional weight.  The water sloshes against my knees.

Behind me, my keeper shifts her weight on the rocks, but doesn't move to stop me.  I take another experimental step, but don't dare push my luck too much farther.  My obligations hold me back more than she does... but in a way, having one of my Poets present makes that obligation physical.  More real.

She clears her throat, and I almost smile at the proof of Poetry inherent in my hearing it.  The storm winds still rattle shingles loose from the roofs of the city, after all.  A polite cough would normally be lost in it.

"I've readied a place for you to stay, Elete."

Ah, my bare name.  Cheeky of her to leave off my title, but then, she is babysitting a grown man in mourning, not the Poet King.  I do appreciate her consideration, but at the same time, it would be nice if she'd just leave.  

Not that either of them would let me leave.  In fact, both of them are going to end up staying with me this night.  I can see it will be for the better, but that doesn't ease my ire.  I want to be alone.  I don't want anyone else reminding me of the living.  I want to be with my wife, with my daughter.

I take another step, and this time, I can't move forward.

"That's enough.  Come inside."

* * *