Chapter Text
Jericho’s head was less brain and more sheet of static, a numb sort of feeling that saturated every crevice of his mind was starting to make him feel woozy. Like he’d gotten drunk the night before and he was about to turn to the side and spill into either a bucket he’d graciously remembered to put at the side of his bed, or onto the deerskin rug that had been so wonderfully gifted to him. Either were choices that didn’t seem particularly tasteful, and now that he felt the roiling churn of bile at the bottom of his stomach- he prayed that there was a bucket angled perfectly under his head.
He was already laid to the side, a hot burning feeling launching itself up his gullet and searing acid over his tongue as ejecta forced its way up his windpipe, making the acrid burn at top of his palate. When he was sure he’d expelled all that he could, he hastily wiped tears from his eyes, groaning when they burnt from- saltwater?
He blinked away the burning from his eyes to look up at the fresh blue sky, cirrus clouds scraping across the heavens in their gentle knife-palate strokes.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep on the beach.
But that’s right, he didn’t. He’d been out on the rowboat, his oars slipped away. It had been a storm- the air had tasted of ozone the night before, but Jericho has turned off his radio and went out anyway. Hoping to catch some of the stillness of the ocean before it became tumultuous.
There’s a cold shock of fingers on Jericho’s feet that makes him jolt to sobriety, and make the sharp twang of salt in his mouth all the more apparent. His face felt dry from sea salt sticking in his pores, crystallizing on his eyelashes, with an aching roll of his shoulders he pulled himself up, muttering a small curse at the pain that smarted up his ribs.
There was a ghost of fingers at Jericho’s feet again, and he flinched, drawing his legs up and putting his hand up to hide from the harsh glare of the sun, “Jesus Christ, some plan.” he croaked, eyes still burning from salt. He had to blink away tears before he could properly see anything again. When he did open his eyes, his breath cut short when he saw the face looking back at him. Pupils wide, expansive. At least, more than what the average person was born with, but the face- a defined slope of the creature’s nose, hair wet. It was then that Jericho caught movement of something close by his strange new friend (if he could call it that). The flash of purple stark against the beige of sand.
A tail .
“You fainted,” It explained, pushing itself up on its elbows so that it could meet Jericho’s eyes, “It was a storm, and you fainted. Thought I’d help you out.” It flashed a grin, it’s teeth curved into points that didn’t seem far too menacing, but it did have Jericho reeling for a moment.
“Here,” It shifted forward, pointing at Jericho’s hip where there seemed to be a wrap made of kale, “Keep this on for two days and it should soothe the muscle. I don’t know if it’s torn, because, well…” His fin fanned out of the water as if it was an explanation.
Jericho found his voice again, fingers fumbling in the sand- instinctively trying to reach out for his notebook, “Hold on-”
The creature let out a trill from the back of it’s throat- something that Jericho assumed was amusement. Its hand reached out to brush some of the saltwater and bile that Jericho had spewed moments ago, something that was so incredibly gentle that Jericho jolted in surprise.
“Careful now.” It hummed, giving Jericho another once-over before it slipped seamlessly back into the waves.
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Maybe it wasn’t the most well-thought out decision that a twenty-something-year-old (how old was he now?) live in a remote shack right by the cliffs. The cliffs were a good idea though- in Jericho’s defence. He heard about how there was one spot where you can see the sun meet its reflection, and it’s something that Jericho wants to see at least once in his lifetime. Sure, he’s been living on the cliffs a month and he has yet to brave the climb.
It’s quiet during the nights, with a gentle lull of the sea and the buzz of the generator whenever his lights cut out. It was nice, tourists didn’t come up all the way here. Mostly because the only road was downtrodden and rocky, and to get up here with a vehicle you’d need either a dirt bike or a Jeep. Good thing Reist owned both.
Reist usually picked him up. Once every two days, to take him down to the research facility to recoup on findings, and to make sure that Jericho hasn’t gone AWOL with his magic (something that Florent quite often liked to remind him).
Reist gives him a once-over, turns back to the steering wheel to turn the key in the ignition, “We have some old clothes if you want them.” He says as Jericho climbs in. It’s never how are you? Jericho appreciates that, instead of mundane little greetings, Reist usually has suggestions like this place looks like it’s falling apart , and the next time he’ll bring a spare can of paint. The two mages are good to him.
Jericho looks at the shirt that he’s wearing- the sole survivor of Jericho’s wardrobe pre-shack life. He doesn’t want any more of Reist and Florent’s clothes, or else people will start mistaking him as their new adopted pup. He fingers the tear right by his shoulder, and waves Reist off, “It’s fine.” It’s the only shirt that can cover up the scrapes and bruises from his little nighttime adventure.
Reist looks back at him pointedly, and Jericho’s lips purse, “I can fix it.” he insists. A few stitches is all it needs, and although Jericho can’t exactly stitch in a straight line, it’s something, and it’ll be enough.
It wasn’t long before the palm trees and the clear blue sky and the slow rocking of the Jeep lulled Jericho to sleep.
Reist woke him up with a gentle shake- giving Jericho a second to stretch his legs out before they were walking to the market. Officially, Jericho was called out of his solitude shack at the top of the clif to help with carrying groceries. Though Jericho was quite positive that Reist could probably carry Jericho along with the grocers without breaking much of a sweat. So really, the ‘official’ reason was awfully planned. Unofficially, it was a check-in. To make sure that he was doing okay physically, emotionally, and as a student of magic. Especially since all Jericho was all potential without much of the means to achieve it. That meant that sometimes his magic could get a little boisterous without his knowing.
Without prompt, Jericho climbed out of the car and went back to the trunk so that he could pull out the burlap that had been sown into bags for convenience. Probably the work of one of the people at The Library. He followed Reist into the first store they had on the list. A convenience store of sorts, that couldn’t really pick what it wanted to market for. It had some hardware tools that Reist was looking for- nuts and bolts and things.
There was a nice thing about living in a small town for the moment, the fact that people knew you by name within the first six months of your arrival. For instance, the store belonged to a man named Raj who had two little boys and a wife that was pregnant with their third- who they expected to be a little girl. The door’s alarm chimed three times as they stepped in, Raj greeting them with a smile as always. He and Reist settle into a conversation that Jericho didn’t quite find any interest in. Mostly because it was about things like the price of gas, or the way that there was a good catch of fish coming in. Mundane things, about the mundane life they now lived. Father from the main Denomination- where there was less influence of the larger people that could tend to be more political than they were pedagogues. Resit and Florent had decided to move to a more rural area to continue their studies with their small faction.
Reist catches Jericho eyeing the hammers that were on the wall, and put a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll get it.”
“I have money,” Jericho counters, not wanting to be coddled into assuming position as Reist’s adopted son.
Resit doesn’t deign a reply, busying himself back in the aisle that they were in, dropping things into the handbasket. There’s a display of books and glass figures on one side of the store wall. Most of it is tacky. No- practically all of it is. All deep greens and blues on the glass, most poorly made. But there’s a section of mythology books made for kids, and Jericho’s eyes catch on the cover of one. Stylized art with blue and green, the image of a mermaid luring a fisherman off the edge of his boat.
“You want that too?” Reist asks. Jericho almost wishes that Reist was teasing- but he’s not making fun of the situation. Everyone under the age of 30 is the same in Reist’s eyes, and so in theory- Jericho is just someone stuck in the kid-to-teen category. Reist’s ignorance went as far as handing Jericho a bucket and pail for making sandcastles as a housewarming gift when Jericho had taken the shack at the top of the cliffs.
Jericho almost said yes.
To distract the both of them, Jericho reaches over to grab a book off the shelf. Rhymes for kids, and flips to a page where there is a drawing of two buxom mermaids striking a pose.
“Really? People buy this?”
Reist just makes a gruff noise at the back of his throat- one that Jericho has come to understand as begrudging laughter, “You’d be surprised.”
Jericho looks offended at the way Reist just takes it in, “Don’t tell me you have one of these.” At the lack of a response, he huffed, “Is this like the time you tried to convince me that there were penguins on this beach?” Jericho had almost fallen for it. Florent had even pulled out photos.
Reist just takes the book from Jericho’s hands and sets it back on the shelf, “There are, just not here.”
“Oh bullshit .”
“The sea is deep,” he responds. Testing the words carefully on his mouth as if it were some old common saying that everyone around here abides by. Jericho has been here for seven months and he knows, it is not .
Jericho just gives him a squint, following him out to the next store, and then the next. They don’t talk much through their trip. It’s just quiet nods, an occasional request to get something- or pick something up. Reist doesn’t bother to ask Jericho how things are going, and Jericho doesn’t press on questions about The Library. A balanced medium.
Jericho likes Reist better than Florent. That’s not saying that Florent is a person that Jericho would rather see dead in a ditch- it’s just that Florent has a habit of picking up on things like a mother did. Florent ditched all personal space and earned a maternal side that was so strong, Jericho wondered how he didn’t have kids yet. There was also the fact that Florent would razz him on almost everything. Starting from the way his clothes were starting to hang off his frame, he was wearing nothing suitable for walking outside in such nice weather. That he was bumming it out- some depressed sycophant with too many heavy thoughts for a pretty face like his.
Resit didn’t say things like that. Jericho liked his silence.
The drive back is as quiet as the drive out. Except Jericho doesn’t fall asleep. Instead, Reist rolls down the windows so that the smell of the fresh blooms as they drive by made the air smell like honey. He catches Reist looking at him, and tries not to sound petulant as he asks, “What?”
Reist shakes his head. Continues to drive.
When they reach the mouth of the steep slope- the ones that the Jeeps tires can’t quite make up- Reist stops to lean back and rummages around in the back seat. Jericho knows what he’s going to do before he does it, and has to resist the urge to snap at him.
“Here.” Reist sets a bag, bulging full of groceries on Jericho’s lap.
It’s an old fight, one that they’ve gone through many times, and Jericho gears up for it, “You don’t have to-”
“I know.” He closes the truck door with a slam, cutting off any protest that Jericho had on his tongue. Then, as he’s pulling out of the makeshift driveway, he rolls down his window and leans out to say, “Eat more.” and rolls away.
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That’s his summer. Brief pauses by the tidepools and the sharp rocks that crash into his cliff so that he can measure the waves and catalogue things that would to other people seem completely trivial. It was a way to make sure that he would keep his senses sharp- last thing he needed was to go back to the Institute only for them to turn him back because his senses had dulled over the year he’d taken away. Pauses in his day to walk down to the main town, mostly because Florent insisted on feeding him and making sure he hadn’t emaciated. He needs time. That’s what Aster had told him when she was helping him pack his things. There are worse ways to live, anyway.
The beach stretches for miles, and it’s mostly deserted. The people of the town have no reason to play in it. So Jericho maps it out, packs a sleeping bag one night. Walks so far that he’s probably circumnavigated the whole island, and sleeps the night. Walks in the morning back to his cliffhouse. Most of the time is spent by the dock, with his books open- rocks placed on the pages so that they wouldn’t flutter in the wind as his pen scratched on the pages of his journal as he wrote down thoughts, events, scribbled little charms and sigils onto the corner of the page. More out of force of habit.
It’s about August when it happens. Reist had just dropped him back from their grocery run, and Jericho shoves the whole bag into the fridge. He opens one of the lower drawers of the fridge to get out an apple, and pulls out a dog-eared tome from his makeshift library. (He’d asked Reist for planks and nails a while ago, and it had resulted in a two-day project of making bookshelves so he’d actually have room in the small living space).
The apple is between his teeth as he loads up his tote bag with small pebbles that he’s been gathering along the beach. Shiny ones, that he would’ve put in a collection if he was 8. But now, they’re being reinstated as paperweights for his novels and books. He brings out a sketchbook for good measure, who knows what can wash up on the shore when the sun sets. Or rather, what Jericho can catch with his bear hands and bring to the dock for further inspection. It hadn’t taken much to realize that Jericho’s so called “delicate touch” didn’t quite transfer to his ability to handle animals. He’d killed three crabs trying to get them on the pier- or, by what Reist had informed him- managed to paralyze them. In any regards, he did cook them later on, so at least he’d never have to worry about starving if he decided to put himself under house arrest.
It was closer to sunset than it was to midday, and while Jericho’s shoes were durable, rocks managed to get into them anyway- stubborn little things they were. He sat down on the dock, yanking off his shoes until he was only in his socks, picking the little pebbles out.
There was a noise that startled him, a little farther off the coast- a noise that sounded a lot like something slapping against wet stone, followed by a garbled shriek of pain. At first, Jericho signed it off as a bird- a gull that was swooping down to get its food. It seemed like the most logical option. Fishermen didn’t fish down this end of the beach, there were far too many rocks to maneuver through.
Minutes later there was another shriek, something that could only come from an animal in pain. It was the sound that Jericho had heard many times at the Institute, when people’s bones snapped out of their bodies because of a spell gone wrong. The screams when Jericho had repositioned the bone so that he could heal it properly.
He set his book down, suddenly alert to make out where the noise was coming from. There was a sudden roil of the ocean, water pulling away from the shore like it did before a storm.
“Oh god.” He’d have to work fast.
The books were left, weighed down with a larger stone he picked up from the side of the pier, and he set off in faste to find the source of the noise. Running on the wet sand as larger waves started to crash against his ankles. Making his trousers stick to his feet, but the noise was starting to be drowned out by the crash of waves.
He faintly remembered a searching spell- doubted how well he’d be able to use it. He was working on almost a year of not touching magic. He paused, head snapping towards one of the sea stacks about 50 meters from the shore. Deep into the ocean. He’d have to swim there.
Jericho supposed there was always going to be some time that he’d need to use swimming. Not that Jericho had ever had an affinity to the ocean. His brother Levi had wanted to learn how to swim, and Jericho had been pushed into the water right with him. Levi had been stellar swimmer, usually managing to overtake Jericho by a few meters easily.
The ocean was getting fickle, the clouds starting to pull in like curtains, and the water starting to get a malicious black. If Jericho wanted to save whatever- or whoever was on the other side of that boulder, he’d have to hasten. Yanked his shirt off his head, tossing it to the sand without much worry. Toed his sneakers off, and rolled up his pants to his knees, buttoning them up so that they wouldn’t slip.
He waded into the ocean, slipping where the sand sloped down sharply. At least he managed to keep his head out of the water, even though he had to hiss against the cold. Without thinking about it-for if he’d waited to think things through he’d chicken out of it-he ducked his head under the cold, letting out a sharp breath all at once. The cold biting against his skin. He
\surfaced for another long breath, and dove under the waves. Deep enough that he wouldn't crash against the waves. Surfacing plenty of times, to make sure he was on course. It took him a while to finally get close to his destination, and by the time he managed to claw onto one of the neighboring boulders that was a foot or two away from his destination, his eyes were stinging from the salt water.
He shook the water out of his eyes, trying to make sense of the blurry shapes that he had. His feet slipped on the rock, not able to find purchase soon enough with how the wind and the were rain battering down.
Jericho didn’t know what he was expecting- an animal, a person . Instead, the two of them look equally surprised to see the other. Jericho remembers the face, vaguely. He’d only seen it one before and he’d managed to convince himself that it was part of the exhaustion and the fizzing pain in his head. It seems not, but Jericho breaks eye contact first, assessing the situation. His grip on his own rock slips trying to get a better look. It looks like the situation is fishhooks. A fishnet that had barbs and fishhooks set on it so that it’d catch something large. It was a sick thing to do, but sometimes the middle schoolers- bloodthirsty as they were- would like to see when a dolphin’s carcass would wash up on the shore.
Jericho remembers that the creature could speak english, and he takes a breath to speak over the screaming of the wind, “Stay there! I’ll try to get them out!”
He stumbles trying to make his way over to the next rock, making the incredibly risky move to jump over, foot slipping and his heart rocketing up to his throat. Nails dug into his arm, the merman having caught him- expression twisted in pain.
“Shit, shit thanks.” Jericho heaved, arm suddenly warm with pain. The nails had probably gotten him good. He found nooks in the rock where he could wedge his toes for some balance. Though the nails in his arm were probably more help than anything his feet could do.
The fishhooks were deep in it’s tail, having razed through plenty of scales as they dug themselves deeper- probably when the merman was trying to pull it out. Jericho leaned forward, finger finding one of the hooks just as another wave slapped against the face of the rock, sending Jericho crashing sideways into the boulder. Head coming back ringing from the collision. He would have to work fast.
“Don’t pass out from the pain.” was the only warning that Jericho could muster before he tugged the fishhook up and out of the merman’s scales, blood welling up right after the wound. The creature’s muffled scream was drowned out by the waves.
“Three more.” Jericho assured it, not looking back to his patient, already reaching across it’s dorsal side to get to the other side where the next hook was. This one had managed to dig itself deeper, and Jericho had to bend lower so that he could get a good look at it. The creature’s fin fanning out and slapping against the rock in reflex to the pain.
Jericho wasn’t exactly nimble the way other people were. He was just efficient, and considering the circumstances, that was all that he could really do. If he had more time, he’d manage to pull the hooks out to cause the least amount of pain possible. But right now, something like that wasn’t on the forefront of his mind. He went through the next two hooks with the same mindset, the three wounds bubbling with blood. The last one was right at the webbing at the mer’s tail, thin and tissue-like. It would probably hurt the least.
Finished, Jericho’s head popped up, looking at the merman. It’s eyes were wide, confused.
“You need to go back,” Jericho urged, pushing the creature away, into the water. Back where it was from.
The creature held on tighter, shaking its head, “No. No. Sharks.”
Sharks didn't come out here. The waters were too shallow, the fish too small. The scholar in Jericho wanted to debate, but the merman seemed to notice his hesitation and twisted so Jericho could see the crescent of bite marks that ran across its back.
Jericho’s throat went dry, “ Oh okay...sharks. Can you swim?”
The merman nodded, wincing as it used Jericho’s shoulder for support as it pushed itself off the outcropping and into the ocean, head still up and bobbing in the water.
Jericho pushed himself into the water, arm seizing with pain for a minute, the claw marks deep, “To shore, I can help.”
There was hesitation, the merman still deciding whether to trust him or not. Jericho could see it in his eyes even though the sky was dark and the ocean darker.
Jericho put a hand up so he could keep the water from splashing in his eyes,“Pick and choose, we don’t have time.”
After all, they were called leaps of faith.
It was a struggle, making sure that they got to the shore, and took a longer time than it should’ve. It made well sense though, considering that the merman’s tail had been lanced in multiple places, and it wasn’t like Jericho was a bona fide swimmer. They hit the sweet spot where Jericho could stand- the waves pushing him closer to shore, the merman dragging itself onto the sand. Less graceful than the first day they had met.
Jericho needed a minute, sprawled on the sand, mouth tasting like salt and ozone. The pain in his arm throbbing in time with his heartbeat, staining the sand beneath it a darker color.
“We have to move .” The merman hissed, looking up with its eyes wild and confused.
He rolled up begrudgingly, standing on shaky legs as he considered how to get the merman to a position where he wouldn’t be bleeding out into the ocean without anything to stem the wound.
The expression that Jericho got was one that was clearly helpless. The merman’s arm was bleeding, ribs boning out towards the skin as it took heavy breaths- skin a pallor that Jericho didn’t remember seeing, and of course- the wounds from the fishhooks.
Jericho liked to say that he thought things out, he was a man of logic- so much so that he left the emotions to other facets, to other times of his personality to handle. There was absolutely no thought involved when he knelt down, worming his hand through the sand to get a grip on the other side of the merman’s shoulder, the other making its way to the merman’s hip. It took a minute to stand up with the new weight on his arms- and it didn’t seem like Jericho was a particularly steady hand at it either. The merman’s nails instantly dig into the back of his shoulder in order to keep steady.
Jericho mumbled a curse as he felt his ankle roll, “Okay, you have to work with me here, loosen the noose around my neck, and I’m going to take you to my home okay? We need to get your wounds looked at.”
There was hesitance, a glaze of the merman’s eyes as it looked up at Jericho. Wondering if it should trust him or not. After a minute, there was a quiet but firm, ‘Alright.’ and Jericho made his way to the rocks that would lead him up the cliff to his less-house-more-shack residence.