"Stay clear of the water!" Laevi yelled. He was laying kelp out on racks to dry in the sun, and his youngest son Hilva was tossing rocks into the waves. There was often a longshore current on the beach when the wind was from the west, and he did not yet trust his son to heed wisdom and stay out of the water. His son was only seven years old, still looking at the world with wondrous eyes. Laevi constantly looked over at Hilva, making sure he was still digging for shells yards from the surf.

The harvest of kelp was plentiful on the western coast of Veroi. There, the cares of the rest of Findeluvié were almost unheard of. Few human ships ever ran the straights of the Crossing Isles, and Isecan was a mere rumor in the east for all but those conscripted. Laevi had surpassed three hundred years, and he was not likely to be conscripted. He had gathered kelp, harvested coconut milk, bananas, yucca, and all the other treasures of the coast for his whole life, relishing the sun and the wind and the salt waves. In his one-hundred and eightieth year, he had found his mate. She had born him three children thus far—two vienu and a vien. Life still held vigor for him, all the more as he witnessed his children beholding the world for the first time. Through them, he partook of a portion of their fresh awe. Life had not grown weary.

The smell of his own evaporating sweat was familiar as he strung the long strands of kelp to dry. All the sights, sounds, smells, and sensations were familiar, as much a part of him as his thoughts. After he finished with the kelp, he would take his son back into the shade and look for—

A scream interrupted him. He looked over his shoulder. A crocodile dragged his son toward the surf, its massive jaws clamped on both of Hilva's legs. Laevi sprinted across the sand. There was no time to dwell on the horror that filled him. He dove into the waves just after the beast. His hands grasped the monster's jaws as the water submerged them. Up close, Laevi knew how hopeless it was. The monster must be twenty feet long, its mouth an endless row of teeth. The beast twisted and spun, and Laevi held to his son and the monster's jaws, trying to grip onto the monster's torso with his legs.

He knew he would not leg go, that he would die with his son rather than return without him. His strength could do nothing against the creature, not in the water. The water swirled around them. His son! His son! He released one hand and clawed at the beast's eye, jabbing it with his fingers, but the beast spun harder. Laevi nearly lost his grip. They were going to die. He reached out with his mind, his spirit, searching for any hope, any way to save his son from the terror.

He felt it, like a hovering light seen by his spirit and not his eyes. In desperation, he reached out to it, felt the surge of life within him, felt the ocean respond, a panoply of mixed life and minerals suspended in the seawater around them. Taking hold of the burden of living sediment with all his will, he stabbed it toward the beast's eyes. The crocodile recoiled and twisted, but Laevi focused harder. The beast's jaws opened. Clutching his son's body, Laevi thrashed to the surface. He broke the waves and found that they were yet in the shallows, and he could stand. He lifted up his son's head. It hung limp on his neck. The little vien's eyes lolled back, his lids nearly closed. With powerful strides, Laevi gained the shore and laid Hilva on the sand. The little one's legs bled, but that was not the danger.

Laevi lay his head upon Hilva's chest. It did not stir with breath, but there was a faint beating of his heart. Laevi turned him on his side and slapped his back hard again and again.

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"Wake up!" he shouted, again reaching out with desperation. Again, he felt the presence. There was water in his son's lungs, and he focused on it, placing his hands on his Hilva's back. The fluid surged upward, bubbling up out of his son's mouth. Laevi focused all his will on the lungs, to constrict them. Hilva opened his eyes, gasping, sputtering, coughing, and Laevi took him up in his arms. Rocking the little one back and forth, he wept.

***

Tirval felt the familiar weight bear down on them. Rather than grow lighter, it had only become more oppressive over the years. Whether it was because he had grown more aware of the Current and had learned the subtlety of its use, or whether it truly increased in strength, he did not know. Like so many times before, the High Liele encircled the Wellspring, together in will and barely aware of their physical form. That at least was welcome, for Tirval's physical form haunted him.

"We cannot maintain the same control of the margins, not with only seven of us."

Findel had created the Synod to uphold the embrace with eleven High Liele.

"We must reconsider sending riders to pierce Isecan. The scion of Talanael must be found."

"There is no hope to bring the scion out of Isecan. They will be keeping him to the east."

"Then we attack the coast by ship. We do not need to bring him out, only kill him, that the blessing may pass on."

The Synod had discovered Jareen's presence in Isecan over twenty years prior. At their request and with great loss of life, a company of riders had captured two Canaen in the Mingling and brought them before the Synod. They were no match for the combined will of the High Liele so close to Findel's Wellspring, and what they learned removed any doubt that Jareen had somehow made it to Isecan. There was far less certainty about where the scion might be now. Tirval had felt relief to hear that Jareen had survived that far, though the loss of the scion had made the situation precarious for the whole of Findeluvié. There was far more at stake than his own happiness.

"It would serve us better to bring our people closer to the Wellspring. Empty out the borders and the western coast. The embrace has grown too weak there, and our control with it. Too many grasp the Current. The more of its power they draw away, the weaker the embrace becomes, and even more will grasp. If we do nothing, we risk becoming like Isecan, a deformed people at war with ourselves."

Tirval couldn't help but notice the irony of calling Isecan deformed. In his brief time in the Mingling, he had seen no Canaen as deformed as he, growths sprouting from his head and shoulders, his skin bubbled and hardened.

"Then let us do what we have done before. Let us send more companies east."

"The people are weary of conscription. It strengthens their will against us, and we must exert even more. We already rely too much on habit of mind."

The people of the Embrace had never known life outside of the influence of the Synod's will, not even in the womb. Over centuries, their minds found it difficult to leave the familiar paths of thought, even though the Synod's grip weakened.

"It need not be so." It was Tirval who willed. Their thoughts were open to each other, a perpetual nakedness and vying of will, and all he felt was weariness. "Let those who have grasped the Current against our law be conscripted as punishment. It will go easier on the hearts of the people to know why they are chosen. Let the transgressors serve their people on the front."

"They might resist."

"Most have merely touched and little more. It is more dangerous to leave them to grow strong."

"I feel them. There are hundreds, now."

"Let them be gathered together and sent east to atone."

"It will take warriors to execute such a plan."

"The humans are fewer without trade to harry. Send from the company on the coast."

"It is our best choice."

"It is."

"Let it be so."

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