Tales of Fire and Ruin

Child of the Storm

In the afternoon, on our third day of travel, I saw the bright sparkling of sunlight reflecting on waves in the distance. The briny sea air of the Thundercoast stung my nose. I was home.

The wilderness had its downsides, like brigands, bears, and other beasts that wanted to make my innards become outards. Being at the Thundercoast, however, brought on an abundance of other problems that couldn't be solved with a bow and arrow. I supposed nothing stopped me from letting thunder rain down on the debt collectors and unmannerly townsfolk, but I best not take uncle Harold's route of 'handling the situation.' We had all seen where that led.

Endris wanted to take a detour to the coast and see the ocean, and I happily obliged. Frankly, I'd agree to anything that slowed our journey so it would take longer to deliver the bad news about the dragon hunt.

Resting on the beach was no punishment, either. The ocean was the thunder god's domain, and I felt at peace in the golden sand, listening to the crashing of waves rolling inland and the fizzling of foam. Rocky bits and shells were scattered all across the shoreline. While Endris and Oleander took off their shoes and waded in the salty water, I looked for seashells and picked up the prettiest ones. Then I chose a nice spot near the water, crouched, and aligned the seashells in a branch shape. Artistic endeavours didn't come naturally to me, so it took a while and plenty of rearranging before I was satisfied.

A shadow casting overhead made me look over my shoulder. Oleander stood behind me, craning his neck to see my work of art in the sand. It surprised me the elf would even come near me. Oleander had taken my warning to heart. Ever since our talk in the grass, he hadn't spoken to me much. He rode with Endris and stayed out of my way. Now, he smiled at me like I had never snapped at him at all.

"Why are you drawing a Y in the sand?"

I smirked. "Why do you think?"

"Oh..." Oleander blinked. His smile lingered on his lips. I didn't know if he actually caught my wordplay or kept smiling because he didn't know how to respond. I supposed it didn't matter.

"Whenever I'm at the beach, I recreate the thunder god's mark to thank them for blessing me with a touch of their power," I explained. 

I stood and tugged on the collar of my shirt, revealing a small part of the mark etched into my skin, chest to hip. It looked like a lighting scar, but was not quite a scar. The lines were a dark shade of greenish brown like a tattoo, but it wasn't a tattoo either.

The thunder god had visited me when I was five. My sisters and I were playing robbers in the woods. One moment I was running through a clearing, the next there were whispers filling my mind and a hot searing pain flaring up from my abdomen to my chest. I blacked out. When I came by, the mark was carved into my flesh and storms obeyed me. My parents had wept tears of joy, hugged me tight, and threw a feast at our mansion.

I'd been a simple child, happy with the hugs and the attention and not realising how much had changed. I stuffed my face with cake at the banquet while my parents bumped me, the nondescript middle child, to the top of the inheritance line. I'd played tag with the girls visiting our estate, unaware their parents were discussing arranged marriages with my parents.

Oleander studied the shells in the sand, then my chest. I could almost feel his eyes caressing the mark, and my skin felt hot. I let go of my shirt so the fabric sprung back up and hid my chest.

Oleander's gaze shifted to my face. "Are you going to make the entire mark in the sand?"

I groaned. "No. Look, I know it's tradition, but it's not fair, alright? I got a whole damn lightning bolt, branches and all, covering my entire upper body, while some people only get a small mark."