6 Frost 120
Evening
Evening
All that I have is a river
The river is always my home
Lord, take me away
For I just cannot stay
Or I'll sink in my skin and my bones
The water sustains me without even trying
The water can't drown me, I'm done
With my dying
Although employed and apprenticed, it was going to take some time before Sivan settled into it, feeling comfortable, getting to know Jacun and his place within Jacun's domain, believing that the other shoe wasn't about to drop at any moment. His time with his master had been the most contented years of his life, just long enough to start getting comfortable and letting down walls, so, of course, that was when the powers that be decided to kick him in the sack. He didn't have a real rhythm yet. Their house wasn't a home yet, but at least it was warm. IX's dormant form was convenient for hanging things from, which was sometimes amusing and others depressing. He didn't want to be called master or to see the Awoken grieving, but every once in a while, he felt a panic rising. What if IX just didn't return from wherever his mind went when he hibernated like this? What if Sivan had already fucked up?
It wasn't much, but it was theirs: Sivan's, IX's, and the foundling's, whom he had started just calling Flower. The fire sprite in the hearth seemed to be content, keeping their little home warm with minimal fuel. That would be good, as he only had so much in the way of funds and he didn't know if there would be much in the way of worldly profit from his apprenticeship, or just the education and training that he needed.
He was going to have to start counting each little victory. There was shelter and IX had made it there before falling into its fugue state. An apprenticeship had been secured, if probationary—at least to his mind. The seasonal contract with Khal. If he wanted to build upon his small victories, IX would require more familiarity with alchemy. Alchemy would require more time with Jacun. But perhaps another spirit could help him.
Please help me build a small boat
One that'll ride on the flow
Where the river runs deep
And the larger fish creep
I'm glad of what keeps me afloat
The water sustains me without even trying
The water can't drown me, I'm done
With my dying
Flower was napping. This was not unusual, especially after supper filled their belly, which often weighed down their eyelids. Sivan was weary too from working, and content in the food and warmth. Still, there was a nervous energy about him that needed expending or training toward something productive. Instead of napping huddled in the blankets, though, Flower was sprawled out on the rug in front of the fire, their feet toasting up close while Khal crackled happily and dozed.
The rug being occupied, Sivan took the one chair they had for the table and moved it quietly over to sit before the derelict IX. He had found that his posture mattered little, it only mattered that he was able to drop into a bit of a trance. This evening, he wouldn't want to drop too far for fear of falling asleep and falling out of his chair. He rested a hand on IX, who was cool to the touch, but not freezing thanks to the output of wee Khal.
"If you're dreaming," he murmured, "I hope they are good dreams."
That said, he sat up straight, feet flat upon the floor, hands resting on his knees. Breathe in, breathe out. Reach inward, then reach outward. Nature didn't stop where civilization began. There were other places where they were better blended, perhaps, but he had found Khal buzzing around a guttering street lamp. The spirit that had led him to Flower didn't appreciate roads and walls, and so remained apart now that they were in the city, but there were others who were less avoidant. Likely because of Khal's presence, there were more of the tinier elementals nearby the cottage. Word got out and spirits were gossips, he had found.
And so it was that he found spirits slumbering on the roof, nestled into a bit of snow that survived for being tucked out of the way of the sun and breezes. They weren't truly there, of course. The existed within their own realm, but the realms were connected in strange, esoteric ways. Neither had Khal actually been in the streetlamp. It hadn't batted against the glass, hadn't been able to affect anything, really, but had been drawn to the idea of Fire because it was a creature of Fire. Sivan had bridged the gaps between the planes and brought it here where it could grow.
And so, what are your names that I might call upon you?
Dreaming, the water sprites were difficult to pin down, much like trying to pin down a drop of water on one's palm, it flowed around everything, able to be influenced, but not so easily commanded.
Zin, they finally answered. And then he had enough.
Now deeper the water I sail
And faster the current I'm in
That each night brings the stars
And the song in my heart
Is a tune for the journeyman's tale
The water sustains me without even trying
The water can't drown me, I'm done
With my dying
Drawing his aether through the rune at the base of his spine, he spooled out threads of his own essence into a sacred geometry that circled him, the spot on the roof, and the tub of water in IX's hands. He could see the aetherium overlapping the material world, his energetic threads knitting a pathway between them. The water in IX's tub began to move as if some fish were moving about, but it was only his aether poured in as an offering, a point of negotiation for a deal to be struck.
Xin, he called, and his threads tightened, contracting like muscles, opening a doorway between the planes. And Xin came through, awake now, swimming sinuously through the wormhole of invisible light twisting from the circle on the roof to the circle traced around the rim of the tub. They swam thereabouts, nudging at his aether, though it reacted much in the same way that they did; they could not pin it down, merely move around it, wanting it. These were tiny creatures of Water. Their needs were simple, as were their hungers.
He offered them a name to use for him. It was not his Name, would not give them power, but gave them an opening to begin negotiations. Khal was an it. Xin was a they—both in terms of gender, such as it existed for such creatures, and because there were three of them, a trinity.
Humming a song while another part of his mind laid out the terms of a concordance, he picked up a candle and twisted the wick between his fingers. It lit immediately, Khal coming to answer him from where it lived in the hearth. It buzzed and sizzled from this plane to the aetherium, glowing happily, which ought to assuage any doubts Zin might have about making a deal with him. There was no interdiction offered; if the terms were not met, the deal would dissolve and they would receive no aether from him.
Then, after some discussion, as much as discussion was possible with beings that were more nature than mind, an accord was made. Khal zipped happily back to fireplace and the water sprites swirled up out of the basin and through the air to twist around the wick of the candle. With a flash, they converged on it, and it looked as though it were a flame made of water. This was their agreement, taking a form similar to what Khal had to indicate they wanted what Khal had. And then they had a deal struck for the duration of the cold season. Perhaps he wouldn't require their help after that if he could afford to get the plumbing renovated and the leaky roof fixed.
His spiderweb of aetheric thread shivered, flashed, and began to unravel, the doorway no longer necessary. If they made noise or took form, it might have looked like a trio of ducklings startling and then running for water the way the aquatic flame burst into three and swam through the air to jump into the basin to consummate their agreement by devouring his aetheric offering. It was enough to glut all three and have leftovers for later, which they would have to learn. He laughed at the idea of spirits waddling like baby ducks. They might grow a bit with a steady diet and the tasks he would set them.
Standing, he crouched over the basin in IX's hands, watching them and speaking to them through the link that existed between them for the time being.
First, he wanted them to run up and down the pipes clearing blockages. He thought perhaps autumnal debris might have gummed up the works. If it was more than that, then perhaps they could call water even through broken pipes so they wouldn't have to go draw water from the nearest well whenever they needed it. This was a magical city, after all. They should have some creature comforts. And, of course, he wanted them to keep the cottage watertight, though he didn't mind the one leak as IX was catching it and the unmoving automaton holding with its basin was sort of what passed for art and decoration at the moment, and allowing the one leak was a way to let the water flow.
It was the nature of water to flow, and he didn't want to put the little sprites to work against their nature.
Now the land that I knew is a dream
And the line on the distance grows faint
So wide is my river
The horizon a sliver
The artist has run out of paint
Where the blue of the sea meets the sky
And the big yellow sun leads me home
I'm everywhere now
The way is a vow
To the wind of each breath by and by
The water sustains me without even trying
The water can't drown me, I'm done
With my dying
