Chapter Text
There was a white man on his shores, and he couldn’t figure out why.
While Kwamé had been taking a walk along the beach, mostly to clear his head but partially to avoid his mother, he had noticed a ship out in the ocean, quickly moving towards him. It was larger than all of the boats their neighboring kingdoms used, so it had to be foreign.
The presence of a foreign boat usually meant trouble, so he ran back to alert his father. He was told to take some of their warriors out to meet them, and to determine a best course of action from there. He only took a group of around twelve warriors, and Mensah. Mensah wasn't much of a fighter, but he knew the languages foreigners spoke, so he was invaluable to occurances like this.
As a group of smaller boats made their way to the shore, Kwamé got the sense that something was wrong. Not that the people on those boats were dangerous, but that something was amiss amongst them. Seeing as he was never wrong with these gut assumptions, he ordered his warriors to not immediately attack these foreigners.
The first boat arrived on the shore and a white man jumped out and immediately started yelling in what Kwamé assumed was his native tongue.
He glanced to Mensah, who's brow was furrowed as he translated the man's speech. "He's saying that someone on his crew has been badly hurt, and they need our help."
Kwamé paused. That...was not what he was expecting. Normally ships didn't come onto shores for medical reasons, especially not on foreign beaches. It must be serious.
"Ask him about the nature of the injury."
Mensah nodded and turned to the man who was now only a couple meters away and yelled his question. The man responded quickly, looking more desperate as he continued.
"Bullet and stab wounds. Says they were attacked and that they were already low on medical supplies when it happened," Mensah translated quickly.
It was moments like this where he wished he'd paid a bit more attention when his uncles taught him about strategy and aid. He knew nothing about these foreigners, and for all he knew this was all some elaborate scheme to attack his home, raid towns and take more of his people across the ocean. But they clearly needed help, and his heart was much too soft to turn them away.
"Tell him he can bring the injured one and five of his men, but the rest must stay on his boat for now." He turned from Mensah to order his warriors to either go back and tell his father of what had happened or aid these men in transporting their injured ally.
They sprung into action, running this way or that to follow orders. He thanked the gods that today was not a day that everyone second guessed his words. He turned to the man who had been saying a single phrase at him for a couple minutes now.
Mensah saw his confusion and explained. "He's thanking you. Maybe a bit too much, but foreigners are quite irrational."
Kwamé looked back at the man, who looked so relieved at their assistance. "You're welcome. I am Kwamé."
Mensah translated quickly and the man extended a hand and said what must have been his name.
"Gillead Gaylord."
xxxx
Gillead's crew member was only looking partially better after the healers attended to them. Mostly because they had staunched the bleeding, but they still looked pale and their breaths came short.
Gillead had not left his ally's side since they arrived in the medicine house. He stared at them with an unreadble look, only turning away to eat when food was brought to him. The rest of the people Gillead had brought moved in and out, some speaking to his father and uncles, others merely glaring at anyone who got too close.
Mensah was having a field day, being called back and forth to translate as he was one of the few people who spoke the language of these foreigners. Kwamé caught glimpses of him, sweaty and tired but grinning at finally being useful.
Kwamé was decidedly less enthusiastic. His father called for him as soon as he returned, to learn the details of the situation and to reprimand him for bringing a foreigner to their town. Despite him doing the right thing, he was still yelled at. Of course.
Currently, he was speaking with the healer who had taken control of the foreigner's care. She said that the man could pull through this, but it was unlikely. He nodded and thanked her for her work, and she smiled and left the medicine house.
Leaving him alone with Gillead and the injured man.
Gillead looked horrible, to be frank. It appears that whatever battle occurred, Gillead had also been injured during it, but he refused help from the healers and insisted they focus on his ally. He seemed a good leader, if the people he brought with him were to be believed. And Kwamé could help him. He could heal this foreigner.
But if he did, he would truly be kicked out and left to fend for himself. No one would even mourn this revelation, except maybe Mensah. Was it worth it to leave his people behind to help a stranger he didn’t know?
But the people of his kingdom were not kind to him. He had been ostracized by everyone, even his mother, and only kept around because he was the only son of his father. If he had been anyone else, he would have killed the moment his magic showed. His people don’t meet his eyes in the street, any anger from him makes his uncles step back, and his mother was practically bursting with insults for him.
He knew what was right. He knew what he was going to do. He just prayed that Gillead would listen to him first instead of stabbing him.
He didn’t have time to find Mensah. This man was fading quicker every second. So he reached for Gillead’s mind and said “I can save him.”
Gillead startled and looked around the house until his eyes landed on Kwamé. “Are you…speaking in my mind?”
“Yes.”
“How? How can I understand you?”
“I’ll explain later. For now, I need your permission to save him.” He nodded to the man on the bed, who looked paler and his breaths were weak.
“Didn’t your doctors-“
“He won’t make it if I don’t stop it, and every second you spend waiting the closer he is to death.”
Gillead quieted, and looked to the man on the bed with the same unreadable expression from before. “…Do it. Save him, please.”
Kwamé moved towards the man and sat at his side, right next to Gillead. “What’s his name? I need a name to work.”
Gillead raised an eye brow but responded “Their name is Ben.”
Ben. He rolled the name over in his mind as he took a deep breath and placed his hands on Ben’s chest. Ben. This person was Ben, and Kwamé was going to make sure they stayed.
With another deep breath, he pulled from the pool that simmers in his gut, a pool of magic that lies in wait until he calls for it. It came quick when he called, eager to be released into the world. He directed the magic towards Ben’s body and slowly started to piece bones together, mend skin, and situate their organs which had been rearranged slightly by the injuries. It never felt hard, doing magic. It came as easy as breathing to him. But saving someone from the brink of death was a lot to ask. Even so, he pushed on, fixing everything in Ben’s body until their face gained some color back and their breathing evened out.
Kwamé leaned back with a sigh, wiping away some sweat that had begun to drip as he healed Ben. That had taken more out of him than he realized and he felt exhausted, like one might feel after a whole day of training. He glanced at Gillead to see the man staring at him with an awed look.
“You used magic, didn’t you?” Gillead’s voice rang through his head and he winced. Seems like bringing someone back from the brink of death also meant a headache.
“Yes. Now please quiet your voice, I’m tired.”
“But how? Is it the same magic you use to communicate with me? How can I even understand you now? Why were your hands glowing purple when you were healing Ben? Why do you need Ben’s name for magic?”
He was starting to regret helping.
“Quiet, sea man. I am tired, and your questions will only make me irritable.” He lay on his back and closed his eyes, although he still felt the stare of Gillead boring into him.
“Will you answer my questions when you awake?”
With a sigh, he begrudgingly agreed. “Make no mention of this to anyone, not even the man on the bed.”
“They’re not a man.”
“Not even the person on the bed. Goodnight, sea man.”
Kwamé didn’t miss the smile in Gillead’s tone when he said goodnight as well.
xxx
A couple days later, he was packing his bags to join Gillead and his crew on board The Wife of Sappho.
After Kwamé's interference, Ben made a quick recovery. Gillead had not stopped pestering him about his magic, and his father had not stopped asking him exactly how Ben had recovered. He'd had no proof, so he didn't officially reprimand him, but it was clear to Kwamé that his father knew exactly what he did.
Kwamé had dodged his parents and uncles quite well afterwards, but Gillead and Mensah were harder to lose. Gillead would not stop pestering him with questions about his magic. What he could do, how he could do it, the man never seemed to run out of questions. It was made more frustrating that Kwamé himself didn’t know the answer to many of these questions. Every question was a bitter reminder that he didn’t understand a huge part of himself, and he wanted to bash Gillead’s head in for making him remember.
Mensah kept coming to him with stories the crew had shared. The translator looked absolutely starstruck at the many adventures these people had undergone, and Kwamé knew that there was a bit of envy mixed up in there as well. For as long as he’d known Mensah, the man had always wished to leave their familiar shores and explore the world. It’s the main reason he learned the white man’s languages in the first place.
So Kwamé was only half shocked when on the day of the crew’s departure, Mensah announced he was going with them.
“Mensah, every time you have ever gotten on a boat, you have gotten sick. This seems like a bad idea.” Kwamé said, watching Mensah wave his arms around as he spoke.
“Kwamé, this is the only thing I’ve wanted since I was a child. I’ll get used to the boat, and JaggedAxe has promised that I would be a great asset to the crew!”
Ah yes, the ridiculous name Gillead called himself by. He was not suited to the name Captain JaggedAxe. More like Captain SeaBrain, since the ocean is the main thing he speaks of outside of asking Kwamé about his magic.
“And your family?”
“They already know and are very excited for me.” Mensah waved his arms more as he spoke.
“Mensah. They are pirates. You have never been a warrior. What happens to you when a battle breaks out?” Kwamé placed a hand on Mensah’s shoulder and he stilled.
“…I have to take this chance, even if it kills me. And you cannot stop me.”
“I admire your guts, friend. And just like I cannot stop you, you cannot stop me from joining you.”
Mensah’s eyes widened. “What? No, you are the prince-“
Kwamé snorted and rolled his eyes. “Some prince I am. Most of my subjects and my own family hates me, and I’ve never been much of a leader.”
“That’s not true! You’ve just had to lead idiots.”
“I appreciate the comfort Mensah, but we both know that’s not true.” Kwamé stepped back from Mensah and looked him in the eyes. “I will protect you, my friend. If you are so sure that you will go, I will go with you.”
Mensah searched for something in his eyes, and nodded when he found it. “Alright. I’ll let JaggedAxe know.”
“No need. I’ll inform him.”
“But how…” Mensah trailed off as realization hit him. “You spoke in his mind.”
“How else am I supposed to communicate with the oaf?”
“Kwamé, that’s dangerous!”
“For as big a mouth as ‘JaggedAxe’ has, he has kept my secret. I do not worry.”
Mensah sighed. “I trust your judgement. I have to finish packing my bags, so I’ll leave you here.”
“I shall see you on the boat then, friend.”
And now he was boarding that very same boat. Gillead was shocked but excited by the news, and eagerly brought him and Mensah aboard The Wife of Sappho. Kwamé hadn’t the slightest clue what that name was referring to.