Finding Atlantis - 10. Chapter 10

Krilla rose through the edge of a pleasant undistinguished dream which he could not remember a single detail of as soon as he became aware of his body. It was warm in the little wooden cabin, especially where his skin was pressed against Aleksi’s lighter tanned shade. Krilla opened one bright sea blue eye to check that all was indeed, as he thought, and settled back down to sleep again. His motion, slight though it was, disturbed Alek and the boy screwed up his face before blinking slowly a few times. His jade gaze turned on Krilla, pillowed comfortably on his shoulder.

“Good morning,” the fisherman intoned in a honeyed voice, thick with the want of sleep and the satisfaction of sex, “You sleep OK?”

“I had strange dreams,” Aleksi admitted, instantly earning himself a deeply caring worried glance from Krilla, who was, even now, stroking the muscle of his abdomen in a most distracting manner, “But I see you’re fine.”

Krilla practically purred in agreement.

Afterwards they lay on top of the bed, having discarded the covers during their athletic romping, newly sticky and breathing heavily.

“Good morning too you too,” Aleksi said dryly, “Sex maniac. I need a drink.”

“You need a wash,” Krilla said.

“And whose fault is that?” Aleksi asked, answered only by a blush.

“There’s no shower,” Krilla said, still prone on the makeshift bed while Aleksi stood over him, “You’ll have to wash down in the sink.” Aleksi vanished out of his range of sight and the sound of the tap and various other clatterings began. Krilla turned his face into the pillow only be shocked by a splash of cold wetness almost instantly. Moaning his complaint, Krilla was unhelpful as Aleksi briskly cleaned him up and then tugged on his ankle to get him out of bed.

Krilla was still sleepy and tousle haired as he made his way, squinting, into the morning light. The little harbour town was just up and getting busy but Krilla didn’t truly warm to the idea of going on land. Brushing his hair out of his face he set up the little grill and proceeded to grill fish caught and kept in a bucket the day before whole and unfilleted. Aleksi watched this with an amusement that bordered on alarm as Krilla took bites from a raw, thankfully dead fish held in one oily hand.

Aleksi picked his breakfast of grilled fish apart delicately and Krilla watched him, fascinated by the fingers, so quick and tidy, that had given him such rough pleasure so little time before. He decided that Aleksi looked good, unwashed and rough in the morning glare, his eyes shuttered by lowered eyelashes. Krilla munched his fish happily, tearing the flesh with his fingers, without too much thought.

“You wanna go sailing today?”

Aleksi looked up from his neatly dissected fish. He tilted his head, seeming to consider this offer.

“No regrets?”

Krilla grabbed his hand, quick as a flash, and pressed a chaste, slightly oily kiss to the palm.

“None whatsoever.”

“Let’s go.”

They finished up and Krilla left his guest to clean up the plates and grill while he went ashore for fresh water and fruit and other things from the market. Haggling over the price of a sack of oranges, he yelped when someone ruffled his long hair.

“Good morning Krilla,” Yusuf was looking very young and floaty in an outfit so lightweight that it was almost indecent. He held a bunch of flowers under one arm. Following him at a short distance was Aziz, weighted down under the bulk of two big canvas bags full of vegetables.

“Morning guys,” Krilla paid for his oranges and scooped up his purchases, “Hey Aziz how come he got to carry the flowers?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Aziz reached them and dumped his stuff on the ground, “And where are you going all with water and fruit and supplies?”

“Alek and I are going sailing,” Krilla said complacently, then saw the smug look on Yusuf’s face, “What?”

“Everyone knows Krilla,” Aziz said in a low tense voice, “About him, that he likes you. Only Yusuf has worked out the full story, no one else suspects.”

Krilla turned wide panic stricken eyes on Yusuf.

“Oh you think I care?” the younger boy grinned like a monkey, “Krilla, I don’t give a damn,” he dropped his voice down to a near whisper, “He is sort of hot though, I’ll give you that.” Aziz clipped him around the skull, “Come on you, let’s get going.”

“Bye Krilla!” Yusuf called out mischievously as Aziz hoisted the bags and they vanished into the crowd.

Back on La Belle Mere Aleksi stood in the stern, watching the water slap against the hull. He answered Krilla’s call and nearly fell while trying to catch the sack of oranges Krilla had thrown before he was quite ready. Krilla handed over the containers of water and the bags and little jars of various other oddments before leaping onboard.

“Get that lot in the galley,” he said briskly, “You can be in charge of food, you do it so well.”

He cast them off and hoisted the sails as Alek vanished into the hold. The air was strong, the wind pushy and insistent, filling the main sail faster than Krilla could raise it. He swung the little agile boat around and they were streaming out of the harbour fast as the wind’s wings would take them. The sea was bright and choppy as they emerged from the protected calmer waters of the bay between Meis and the mainland and the ship picked up speed as Krilla stood in the prow, ignoring the tiller, moving his weight as though guiding the ship with thought alone. Aleksi emerged from the hold and wrapped strong warm arms around him, smooth hands snaking up under his shirt, hot palms stroking the rounded muscles of his abdomen. Alek breathed in his ear, warm damp tongue on the back of his neck, lapping at the little hairs.

“What happened yesterday?” Krilla asked, his voice stiff with tension, “Why does everyone know you’re gay?”

Alek gulped audibly behind him.

“I’m sorry.” His hands grew tight, crushing, around Krilla, making his ribs creak.

“It’s alright.” He tapped Aleksi’s arms to get him to let go, the tense moment was shattered, “Come on, you need to learn your way around this thing.” Krilla pointed towards a rope close to their right. “That’s the forestay, tug it.” Aleksi went to rope and gave an experimental pull.

“Nothing.”

“Pull properly, shove your weight behind it, you’re lifting up the damn sail!” Aleksi grabbed the rope in two hands and hauled down. The jib sail began to rise, swinging out and billowing with the wind. Krilla laughed, went to the tiller and changed their set against the wind a little. He watched as Aleksi saw the boom coming and ducked, even though he didn’t need to, that far in front.

Laughing they moved around the boat in what seemed to be a permanent game of cat and mouse, Aleksi’s hands closing on thin air when Krilla swivelled neatly out of his grasp. And Krilla showed Alek the ropes, taught him the rudiments of sailing, of navigation, resurrecting, from the comm room, the maps of the area, the sea far more detailed than the land. He had the younger man guide the boat around the nearest island, teaching him how to tack sails, how to switch direction and guide the little craft along. He swung the boat around so fast Aleksi lost balance and nearly went over the side. As it was Krilla had to rush to the other side of the boat, righting the angle as the prow rose out of the waves, skimming along at speed.

It was a hard day’s sailing and somehow they both forgot to stop for lunch, Krilla having too much fun teaching Alek the tricks and turns of sailing. They drank clean water straight from the glass jug, getting more on each other than down their throats and Krilla sat on the guard rail and tore into a pair of oranges with his fingers, watching Alek move about the ship.

The foreign boy had found his sea legs, and moved around with a swift grace close to Krilla’s own, although unlike Krilla he had no way of predicting the sudden swells and staggered just a little. No one was quite as good as Krilla, but that was his little advantage over people like Aziz who’d been running on boats since birth. Krilla was connected to the sea. Alek was a fast learner too and Krilla watched him now, hauling and flapping at the sail lines, the curves of him dressed in linen shorts soft and thin with too many washings. Krilla swore that he was browner by the hour. Watching Alek took him to remembering their night time escapades.

The sex was nothing like it had been with Kinau, so many years before. It had hurt, slightly, but that was more six years of celibacy than haste on Alek’s part. Kinau, even when he had pretended to be in love, was rushed and fierce. Wouldn’t ever kiss Krilla during it, always wanted him on his front, hardly ever saw to it that Krilla came as well. Alek was so, so precious, caring, the look in his eyes when he kissed Krilla, the shape of his mouth around his name. Krilla smiled to himself, slipping orange segments down his throat.

The wind died just as the lowest rim of the sun touched the edge of the sea, like they were connected on some deeper cosmic level. The boat ticked along, kept moving along the water with borrowed power. Alek looked confused, but Krilla just stroked him arm and guided the slowly halting little craft around the final curve before the last little gust died in the sails. They dropped anchor in the wide flat white-sanded bay and sat on deck, watching the sun creep slowly down into the sea. Alek wrapped a strong arm around Krilla’s waist and kissed the back of his neck softly.

“I could stay out here forever.” He said wistfully, gazing into the deepening waters.

“Why don’t you?” Krilla asked, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Alek chuckled smoothly.

“Shut down the boat, I’ll get dinner started before the light dies.” He swatted Krilla on the arse as the fisherman wandered peacefully along to the prow. Krilla made a half hearted grab at him, but Aleksi had vanished down the companionway.

He took down the sails, folding them neatly in a practiced, careful way that was so automatic now that it was something like breathing. He could hear Alek move about in the hull, feel his presence on the ship. When Aziz came out with him and they slept out at sea overnight Krilla always minded, just a little bit. With Alek it was different though, and Krilla was sure it wasn’t just the sex thing. Alek just seemed to fit here, and when Krilla thought of what a thin unsure creature he’d been just a few days ago he sighed and shook his head. Alek had just fitted into the ship like he was made for it. Kitta sona, Alek had called him in a moment of weakness. Shining one. Rather poignant words to be spoken so soon.

But he’d made his shot, told Alek not to fall in with him; he couldn’t force the issue, knowing that Aziz would have done that for him. It wasn’t fair, but when Alek arrived back on deck with the water jug, setting up the over sea grill, Krilla felt a burst of, what? Fondness for the boy, too strong a feeling to call friendship, too scared to call it love. He stared out at the blood red light seeping across the surface of the sea. Red sea, dead water. Krilla fought back the memories and was shocked out of his little reverie by the smooth warmth of Alek’s hands coming up under his thin shirt. Fingers stroked at him playfully, flicking at honey-brown nipples and making Krilla’s breathing short, loud and irregular. Just as the tension and want began to get maddening Alek pulled away.

“Dinner, come on.”

“Hey!” Krilla leapt off the rail and landed crouched and predatory on the deck. Alek was back by the grill, a couple of hot pans resting on the big reed mats to save the deck from burns. Krilla looked down at himself, half clothed in material so thin it was see through. He pressed a hand over his arousal and glared at Alek. Alek laughed and reached out a hand to him. Krilla went over and stood by him, scowling. “That’s not fair-” he started, but was stopped in fairly efficient manner as Alek brushed his hand and his clothes away in one swift motion and took the length of him in his mouth. Krilla gasped, grabbed Alek’s shoulders as pleasure swept up through him. It didn’t take long, Alek knew just what he was doing and Krilla’s whole body went tense, his voice dying in his throat, the words of a warning never making it past his lips. Alek drunk him down obediently, looking incredibly pleased with himself as Krilla slumped onto the deck, managing to get his shorts back over his hips as he did so.

“Hungry?” asked Alek, and began to serve out. He’d cooked what was left of the fish from breakfast along with sun dried tomatoes, garlic, plenty of olive oil and chilli. Krilla hadn’t cooked properly in so long he’d forgotten about the box of chilli salt and half a dozen dry ingredients. “There’s beans soaking in the saucepan down below,” he said, talking in between bites, “You’ve got loads of preserved food down there Krilla, it’s a wonder you don’t cook.”

Krilla shrugged and continued to eat. There was a thick soupy stew as well and Krilla looked suspicious as he scooped up meat chunks with a spoon.

“What is that?”

“Goat,” Alek grinned, “Might be a bit tough but it should be OK. You have, like, two whole flanks rolled in salt and oilcloth in one of the mason jars down there. Seriously, you’ve got loads.”

“What else is in it?”

“I found some tins,” Alek was gesturing with his spoon, “Aubergine and tomatoes and one which had no label but it was peaches when I opened it. We can have that later. Why have you got tinned fruit Kril? You have a damned lime tree on deck.”

“I dunno,” Krilla finished off his stew, hungrier than he had thought, “Some of that stuff has been down there like, years. You’re a good cook though, stick to this stuff, this is good.”

“We could stay out here another three days, we’ve enough water.”

“Let’s stay then,” Krilla smiled and set down his spoon, “No reason to go back anytime soon.”

Aleksi laughed at him.

“Need for a fresh water shower?” He asked playfully, and Krilla flicked fish oil at him in reply.

They washed everything up together, touching and bumping hips in the galley, neither wanting to clean everything in the morning. Krilla made a game of it, splashing Alek with clean water, mocking his want of a shower. He wasn’t prepared for the way, once everything was done, Alek grabbed him with no preamble, kissing him roughly before bending him over the wooden surface. The confident foreigner slicked him with fingers coated in olive oil, making him squirm in delight, wanton and panting in the near dark of the galley. Aleksi brought him off like that, Krilla making a mess of the surface they had just cleaned, and then Krilla was doubly surprised when the boy sheathed himself inside him. He cried out, something taut between pain and pleasure running up through him as Alek fucked him hard, moving within him like the fleshy workings of some super oiled machine.

Krilla was panting afterwards, more tired than he should have been as Alek, sated, slipped from him. He grabbed a blanket from the cabin and pushed Alek up the companionway and out into the moonlight. The fat slice of the moon hung high in the dark night sky, spilling soothing white light over them as Krilla spread the blanket on the stern deck and collapsed on top of it. Alek lay down with him, curling close around his form and bringing the blanket around them both. Krilla sighed and slept.

*

Krilla woke at what must have been the small hours of the morning since the moon, still pale and slivery, was hanging on the other side of the mast and the boat didn’t seem to be rotating much. Krilla stared up the stars for a while, then turned to look at his companion. Alek was still deeply asleep, curled on his side, using his own arm as a pillow. His other arm had been curved around Krilla’s waist, and the gesture made Krilla’s heart ache so that he just wanted to wake Alek up to tell him so. Instead he carefully placed Alek’s arm at a comfortable angle and lay there to watch him dream.

Impossible as it was to tell what was going on behind those still, sleeping eyelids Krilla could tell it was a good dream, something pleasant and sparkling. He wondered abstractly if he was in it. Alek slept like a child, unmoving, silent and weirdly pale under the moonlight. Krilla looked down at himself, pale and glinting slightly greenish around his wrists and ankles where the skin was smoother from constant changing, the growing and shrinkage of fins. He supposed his spine must be like that too. The inside of his thighs were tacky with oil and essence of Aleksi. He scowled at the unfamiliar sensation. It was still so dark, he’d go for a swim, wash off, breathe properly, just for a few hours.

He dropped his sleeping line down into the water and dived in with the most silent of little ripples. Under the water he took in the change like a drug, swallowing the water greedily, feeling it rush through his gills, charging his body with the purest oxygen it knew. He let out a few bubbles and then a high glassy note that sounded like freedom. He stretched out under the water, fins flicking this way and that, becoming fully formed, relaxing. Krilla hoped fervently that, unlike Kinau who had lost the ability to become fully human, he’d never lose the ability to become fully fish. Just then, to Krilla’s sea-starved mind, that would be the worst thing in the world.

Krilla swam deep down into the sea where the water was warm and still, the current slow and ponderous, like the fish, big flat sided things that barely even knew he was there. Krilla dragged his fingers through the water, lost in the glory of the green phosphorescence that trailed behind and about him. He loved the beauty of the deep. Finally he rose closer to the surface and tied the cord around his wrist, yawning in the water as he settled down, floating twenty feet below the hull, telling himself he’d only sleep here for a while, that he’d be back up on deck before Alek even stirred.

*

The day he’d finally decided to leave the sea had been dull and grey. The incident with Kinau had put a massive strain on Krilla, one that was obvious to everyone as he lost weight and his scales grew dimmer. He knew he looked ill, didn’t care as he drifted languidly around town. Didn’t care that is, until he’d seen Kinau and his girl swimming arm in arm, always touching, and Kinau smiling like he was in love, a smile that Krilla had never seen from him. Angry, he’d swum to the surface and broke through the waves in time to see all the waters to the horizon go a deep vibrant red. It was like that down below as well as he dropped out of sight. Here at the edge of the warm current where there were more fish, three big sharks circled, biting and snapping. The water was red, violent, and somehow fitting. One of the sharks spotted Krilla and circled off to meet him.

Not all the creatures of the deep respected the sea people and Krilla had fought the shark, driving a white bone knife down through its tiny brain before it could close its jaws around him. They tasted horrible and Krilla had left it for what creatures would scavenge the carcass and swam back to the little rocky settlement on the edge of the black abyss.

That had been the day he’d decided to leave the sea, maybe for good, maybe just for a little while, a respite from the world he knew too well, from the people he didn’t want to see. Some time to let his feelings go. He was still sore with the loss of Kinau when he’d arrived home, with gritted teeth and tense muscles, still slightly shaky from his attack by the shark, the blade in his hand dark with blood. Half of him wanted to go then, the other half of him wanted to stab Kinau first.

His mother had not been understanding of his plight, had forced him to eat, the same seaweed based sludge she’d been serving up for years, and has sat and watched him and told him again of his responsibility.

“You are heir to the throne,” she would say, repeating the words like a dumb mantra, “Atlantis waits for you. You must find it. You must rescue the people of the sea. You must fight for them, guard them, kept them safe. Only you can do this. None other. Old blood is in you, blood that once knew Atlantis. The city of the deep.”

That night Krilla had scowled, swum away, taking his sleep in the sand beyond the settlement, and all night he thought he had heard laughter not far off, people having fun in the dark.