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Entry tags:
and breathe -
WHO: Lan Wangji, your fine self, Zhou Zishu, Lan Sizhui
WHEN: all things underwater during Macaluso’s dragon capture attempts
WHERE: the bay of Taravast
WHAT: in which Lan Wangji loves underwater silence, and sea creatures, dragons and basic breathing don’t love him back
WARNINGS: Sea creatures,underwater claustrophobia
i. open | sea creature served raw
ii. Zhou Zishu can rescue mermaids too
iii. Lan Sizhui goes to the underwater zoo
WHEN: all things underwater during Macaluso’s dragon capture attempts
WHERE: the bay of Taravast
WHAT: in which Lan Wangji loves underwater silence, and sea creatures, dragons and basic breathing don’t love him back
WARNINGS: Sea creatures,
i. open | sea creature served raw
- [ Hunt, if you mean to be caught. Later, he will remember.
Now: waters dark, clean. Roiled mourning. Where boats lance above, the skies weep in wake with empty translucence. Below, the smear of golden striations sundering sands Lan Wangji's feet only tease at stark distance. Enough of light yet percolates to know he has not broken to hard depths, though the flickered swell of crowding froth whips and scratches his lungs with each shallow breath.
Trust the thrall, they said, and Gusu Lan trains deft swimmers, but habit and reason prevail over the comforts of sorcery, of artifice. An hour’s time, bought at the cost of instinct that woos him to grasp the beaded string of nearby coral and propel himself up, minutes into the excursion.
He roams farther than the fishermen require it: past schools of stuttered silvered fish, past the dregs of algae and ripped debris, southward into the hungry mouth of the teasing abyss, until the cold magicians send in crepuscular mists of ice pellets and sedative wafts disperses.
Until he drifts, limbs slack, cutting waters blue and deep darks bluer, and thinks, more fool of a man — the creature is only a conjunction of shadow shifting in mimicry of the midday hour’s sun, changing. It rips itself in movement, slow with the grandeur of every predator that knows its survival inexorable: too big to fall, and a tired deluge of yielding fish, plankton and rubble pulled into the gravity of its unshackled mouth. As if it were a tectonic plate, alive.
Retreating as slowly as his limbs may paddle without injecting fresh stream of bubbles in the waters, Lan Wangji does not know when he encounters another silhouette, cannot say when he concludes, this, then, is the warmth of fellow man. Cannot look away from the enormity of the blindly searching creature.
Survival strikes late; he mouths aside, through the peculiar sorcery: ]
Keep still. Stay low.
[ To alert it now is to risk their hides. ]
ii. Zhou Zishu can rescue mermaids too
- [ The arrogance of magic: exertion, when breath takes toll and stokes to burn, when whatever sorcery lent him the hour’s time underwater begs leave of him, and he is yet stranded below and beneath water and a quivered, senseless thing, remembering the motions of natural biology. The cost of stabbing sea depths with impunity.
There are mercies: enough of the light of the braziers litters speckles of hot white at the surface that Lan Wangji can yet tell land without losing direction. Whirlpools of fish round the great, stilled shadows of fishermen’s boats like beggars and bruises: green and yellowed and ripening to purples, crowding to ask the alms of any spare morsels, thrown in.
By the end of the ascent, pressure deafens him, water is only a haze of milky whites and butter, light distorted. He heaves — coughs around water, and more fool he, a man of Gusu Lan, learned in swimming, experiened past negligence of the basics — and latches onto the flank of the nearest boat, mindless when his weight and the despair of his pull nearly imbalance it.
Waves lash his face in a rush of spume, the start of sick, stormed unrest, when he breaks surface. He clings on to the bull, the thick knots of net and rope intended for the catch of lesser things, now bound to his wrists. If he knows Zhou Zishu, it is after countless, blind, slicked blinks, lashes steeping. When he reaches a hand out in quiet asking for a pull. ]
...apo... a... ah... [ Give him the moment, the guttural, wrenched breath, the cleanliness of air that seeps the wet and salt the very water absents, at great depth. ] ...apologies.
[ There. Hello. ]
iii. Lan Sizhui goes to the underwater zoo
- [ All villagers know this truth: if a lord wishes it done, it will be so. And Macaluso Spina intends to have his dragon.
Sorcery intervenes: the cold’s spread, sticky underwater, part and particles that cloy and crowd and thicken the depths, a great dark stewing. Earlier, the limpid waves had shared the feverish secret of their fish schools, their starvelings, their gossips, the little, curious creatures that tackled boats as if to beg a word.
Now, magic bides Lan Wangji an hour’s endurance underwater. And his knees know, his bones, his fingers: remember from the streams of Gusu Lan how to coil and retract, to curl and contain what licked scarcity of warmth his body possesses in the face of ice terrors, the swarm of white formations, great slow sheets that groan under their own heft.
The canals cannot survive ice magic long, he suspects, not with the traffic of vessels, the people unaccustomed. But Lan Wangji can have this: a moment, his son yet at his side, when there is only the prickle of wet and cold, and the white of them, drifting, and then —
The bright, swirling strike of lightning, serpentine, the dragon at distance. He sees it, and first assumes it only a cutting of ice, sinking, drowned — but it traverses, rounds, turns into itself, seeks out. It appears to chase nebulously, whatever chilly sorcery they drip from above dulling its wits —
And Lan Wangji’s arm comes up, signals Sizhui at ease, to yet stand his ground, as the dragon surges to break the surface, then collapses back down, slabs of gelid thickness crashing back with it into grey waters, their silence depths now a battlefield before its trashing. It does not seek them out, only slithers, scales long and slick and returning motes of distant light.
It aches Lan Wangji, to speak underwater, body distressed by sorcery. Still, Sizhui must have his instruction: ]
Do not stain your hands with its capture.
[ Let it be witnessed, let them learn the creature, how it shifts and turns and tatters water — let them remember, and assist it later on. ]
i
He just needed to think of what first.
It didn't stop him from swimming for it, putting his faith in the magic they were promised would give them the ability to stay underwater for an hour. As he made his way as far out as he dared to go by himself, he focused on his breathing, heating himself and the water around him as he moved, trying to make the most of the time he had been given and see what he could - hoping something would spark a plan.
Zuko didn't what to expect from the dragon, but he knew whatever it was, he wanted to try and keep it safe. This wasn't home, and here he didn't have to feel the guilt he did for the way his people had hunted them for sport - but just because these dragon hunters weren't doing it for fire-bending glory didn't make it right either.
The shape of another caught his focus and for a moment Zuko was still, trying to determine if he had found someone else in search of the beast, or a lifeless shipwreck victim. Catching sight of the slow kick of the other person he was about to make his move and get closer when ahead, the swooping swirl of some deepwater horror's broad shadow tore his attention away from the stranger, directing it towards the massive beast itself.
Still staring at the massive creature just beyond he swam almost absently towards the other person, getting close enough to hear the cautionary advice before he looked to the speaker, recognizing him from the Stairs of Sighs almost straightaway. The somber man in the tombs that had asked him to leave.
"After the dragon?" He posed his question as quietly as the other man had addressed him, aware of the push and pull in the water as their surroundings reacted to the tremendous shape furling and unfurling slowly in the water. Zuko didn't know what he was going to do if the guy said yes. Maybe he could be reasoned with.
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Over them, its maws brightly open and brilliant, teeth rotten and blunted by time, drenched in lichen. It does not search. It needn't. And fear that's never carved fresh home in Lan Wangji's heart sets down the first bricks of foundation, between the rubble of sickly reef, between gentle currents. He trips, nearly, in withdrawal — when he waves the boy with him, and, still watching the creature, step-shifts back, and back, and nearly trips on forests of kelp, but finds his balance again to recede.
An ancient district, homes and halls submerged. He does not know when he turns to grasp the boy's wrist, only that the touch of bone wakes him, anchors him, stirs him back to attention. Close enough, the bright, greyed sheets of stone, and columns of decayed structure, and though Lan Wangji does not aim for settlement here, he knows it is best yet to run where one can hide.
The creature cannot consume them, where the heft of its belly cannot fit. "No cowardice in taking shelter."
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And it helped enough that their dive into the dense kelp forest went unnoticed, the creature's attention briefly pulled in the direction of a rising, milky cloud of rubble from just next to it.
Tensing when he's grabbed he knows enough to know the guy probably means well. He's abnormally warm to the touch, like someone running a fever so high and so persistent even the chilly waters that surround the bear of them aren't enough to quell it.
"Come on," Zuko turned his arm beneath Wangji's grasp, taking a hold of the man's forearm as he pulls him towards the ruins, certain he can make out a space just above where stones had fallen away. He didn't want to get stuck in some underwater cave, but he wanted to be on solid ground and decided it was worth investigating if it meant he could stand up again. Hopefully, his newfound deepwater diving companion felt the same.
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And he means to say —
It will only lure it closer.
— but the creature comes already, they descend in a whirlwind of limbs and a tragedy of lost balance, and when Wangji breaks his fall on the sea's ground, knee nibbled by gravel, he spares the moment to appreciate the bizarre, residual transition of walking while floating.
Zuko, he remembers the name, between blinks that should weigh down his lids, each breath a dull ache over its predecessor. White. White anchors him. Between strands of long weed and agglomerations of coral, they start within the ruins, and he finds himself foolishly driven to linger in the boy's orbit, as if the approximation of steps apart might see them drift.
Farther out, the creature floats, dark and distant. Beneath his feet, he struggles to come down and clasp a cut of broken marble, broken off fallen walls. He unearths it, and the device that serves them for brush and tongue pulses awareness:
"...aravast." No, even he may deduce. "Taravast." And once Lan Wangji's fingers dig through the grave of rot and tangled debris, sweeping it aside, "Witches' quarters."
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At least nobody got hurt - even though the chilling sensation of wet kelp sliding past his body while he moved through the water after Wangji made Zuko's skin crawl. Injuries weren't a more palatable prospect but pain wasn't creepy.
Sending an arm out to try and clear the way in front of him and stop the horrible stuff from brushing against his face he frowns at the other man's discovery, looking around, trying to see the outline of the creature they had retreated from returning his focus to what the other man had found.
"Can we get inside somewhere?" Witches quarters hadn't been what Zuko expected to find down here, but pressing on was better than contending with the thing they were hiding from.
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Ahead, no doors, barely walls. Weed and algae strapped on white stone like thickened braids, dispersed under the first wavered touch. He pushes them aside, crawled by the spread of ivory and marble, tasting the sculptures of carved filigree. No doors, but —
"Pillars." He finds his footing enough to swivel, to dart between columns and bide the boy Zuko behind him with a slow wave. If they cannot hide, they may yet run, and the creature's girth will impede it from giving easy chase. To be hunted, amid wafts of blue and green and each layer dark, to live as prey. He little abides it.
...but for one warning that strikes him, served neatly behind, for the boy's one notice. "If land succumbed, there may be bodies."
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Sizhui has never needed this kind of consequences. He doesn't need Hanguang-jun's disapproval, let alone punishment, to correct his actions - a hint of sadness, a glance of feeling betrayed, and Sizhui would fall over himself to mend his ways if falling over himself would not make things worse. Hanguang-jun has never shown upset over doling out just punishment, but he knows that it would be better to not force his hand. Not about the important things. He knows now the fear of loss which Hanguang-jun has lived with - and he knows he is one of those whose loss is feared.
His father's concern now is clear, and Sizhui nods without hesitation. Then he looks around, at others in the water, or near it. ]
I can help retrieve those who get hurt?
[ The dragon being a dragon, people being fragile as they are, it is easy to realize that people getting hurt is very, very likely. ]
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His gaze flinches up, where long, lost shadows dapple dark points of passing wonder, betraying the course of vessels. To think, for how deeply they've sunken, the swim back will bide minutes that the monster can traverse in heartbeats. They cannot keep the pace. Must, if they intended to broker time for the ships to crawl back, but they came to hunt with purpose.
What the vessels invited, they will incur. But here, Lan Wangji swims up for a moment, gaze focused on the lost beads of silhouettes littered across water, the lone, cursory figment of what may yet be human figures. ]
Are there lone men scattered?
[ These, they must warn. ]
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Swimming fast after Wangji he followed the other man past the pillars, blinking down through the kelp below, half expecting a hand to reach up and grab them before he tore his eyes away and swam on. "We'll keep going. There's no going back."
And their time was finite. Zuko moved through the water, following the line of pillars that jutted up from the seaweed below like uneven teeth. Maybe it was a plaza, maybe they could follow it to a street. Or maybe it was nothing.
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White, everywhere. Here, gate walls, introducing a — hall. Nearest, perhaps dearest, a delicately filigreed crown of windows, widowed of their glass, timid inscriptions disclaiming them for the shop of a chemist, peddling potions. Next, and Lan Wangji's fingers trail, unstradling coarse lichen from its perch: a showing of dwarf doors, dedicated to children sent to their studies.
"A district whole." Here, a frown bisects his forehead, carves itself deep. "To what end? Sorcerers have their halls above already."
The Bessis, after all, invited them to their abodes.
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He is rather certain that, for all that it is an adventure, capturing a dragon is not the greatest of ideas. Because it is a dragon, and great though magic might be, the chances that it will not be long contained are very great.
But he had a choice, and he entered the water of his own volition. Those up there, he knows, are far less lucky. And there may be some who were never told this would be happening today. ]
There may be. Even with devices for communication, not everyone might know what has been planned for today.
I can go look.
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Why alone? [ But he knows the truth of it, tender on a traitor's tongue, the simple political reduction of sect echelons between those deemed worthy, and they who go dismissed. Knows too that the age is fragile, yet turning: this year, five more, Lan Wangji — spare to a secluded brother — will rank still above Sizhui, the de facto successor. Until the tide breaks, one white hair too many gather, faith shrivels in Zewu-Jun's odds of honouring the succession line, and Sizhui becomes the hope of a golden age, its ephemeral triumph.
And Wangji remembers a time on stair steps, binding his fate to that of another man who thought himself lesser — starts the swim first, cautious for the greedy undulations of the dragon's bending being, not so much hunting them but answering the provocation of fleeting, active motes of dust in its horizon. ] Together.
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[ Sizhui's joy is not hidden, not down here.
He does not think of the future in those terms. He hopes that Zewu-jun will one day recover enough to step out of seclusion, and even if he should take no wife, he might choose an heir to train. Sizhui himself doesn't consider himself (perhaps a little blindly) the kind of person to inspire hope, let alone be the hope of many. Or the whole sect.
But he will always do his best, always, and he will improve until he is strong enough to carry whatever task is needed of him.
He follows his father as he ascends towards the surface, trying to discern what and who is up there, and who might need them. ]
Do you think that they will be able to catch the dragon?
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He has supervised his son's forays in sword work, however distantly, deciding in the way of estranged mothers which style and form best suit his young shape, his growing inclinations. Later, in deployment, he could direct and discover and heal Sizhui's rare oversight.
But leisure and sport, the act of sharing water and a swim have long avoided them, too often burdened by duty. Now — ...even now, it comes with price and purpose, and the stinging striation of hurts on Lan Wangji's straining back. ]
I think of what they will do to the creature after. [ How they will torture, savage it. How they will make a spectacle of its capture, a triumph of its containment. How Lan Wangji's eyes dart back to the gallant, undulating figure, white slipped through the deep jeweled tones of water, briefly roiling, before remembering the elasticity of a landscape unchanged. Too settled in its age to tolerate lasting skirmish. ] Men house great cruelty. [ And in a rare moment of loquacity: ] As your relations learned.
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It would have had to have been something cataclysmic to cause an entire district to yield to the water. The set of small doors turns his stomach, and while he doesn't protest just yet, he hopes the other man doesn't want to open them. He liked answers, but he didn't need them badly enough if risking the inside of that little room was the path to them.
He swam down the hall, eager to put space between himself and the thought of drowning children. Zuko's hand skimmed the cold stone of the wall thoughtfully, finally looking back to Wangji.
"Do you think this place is cursed?" They didn't have things like that where he came from really, but Zuko had learned curses were very much a thing in Taravast - something he hated.
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If not for the constant worry - and the poisoning was enough of a reason to worry, let alone the various kinds of separation, from those here and from those back home - he would find the places and ways of learning very interesting and fascinating. And there is lady Wen...
But that is... generally. Right now, there is a dragon.
Hanguang-jun's words make his lips purse, and his eyes narrow as he looks through the dimness of the water. ]
I know not what they plan. But if we are known to have helped, perhaps we can find ways to ease its fate later.
[ There are times to speak one's opposition openly, and times to be silent on it so that actions can speak louder than any words said. ]
Hanguang-jun, do you think one of the cousins crueler than the other?