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The Living Lands were nothing more than a suggestion on the horizon when Aethyrra felt the familiar undercurrent on her mind. It was difficult to ignore even if she wanted to; it felt like a cluster of birds in roost or the sound of rain on a clay roof. It was an excitement and clamour growing with every nautical mile that they sailed towards home.
“Not long until port, Envoy.”
She waved her hand. Frankly the distance between the empire and the Lands was not enough. Even if it had been months since she spent weeks defending every decision she had made to establish the gréfram after Inquisitor Lödwyn marched upon Paradis, it had been meeting after meeting of facing a renewed, bureaucratic form of Woedica’s wrath by combating every single ingrained principle of being raised in the Empire and a confidant of the Emperor. She had to explain that this was the best solution, lest Aedyr march on wild country and tempt the wrath of a God. Then there was the matter of explaining who this God was. Who Sapadal was.
Now - ships rolled into the harbours with food and wines, cloth and seeds. Weapons and people to repopulate the land marred by the Dreamscourge’s distant memory. Sapadal was not going to be accepted into any praises or curses within the Empire, but that didn’t matter greatly when it came to the politics of maintaining a foothold on the edge of ever changing country.
That undercurrent swelled against her mind, stronger this time. A fish’s scales against smooth rock; an analogy that Sapadal had once used when conversing with her, among many other creative words and concepts.
“A seed on the wind. Returning to the den. Extending branches towards the sun.”
Sapadal’s voice was faint but audible, a flicker in her vision and upon her psyche. If she focused hard enough, she could dismiss the other and shunt their words from her mind. But it had been weeks since she felt that familiar sensation, and nearly a lifetime before she had been to the Living Lands for the first time.
She leaned on the railing of the boat, letting the sea air ruffle her hair, taking in a deep breath as the land slowly encompassed the horizon line. Gulls cawed as they got closer to the port, riding on the tailwinds. She dismissed the idea of the Lands being her temporary home the first time she came to address the Dreamscourge. Then she was promptly assassinated, dragged from the Wheel, and brought together her own band of vagabonds to solve something beyond mortal comprehension outside of the traditional laws and binds she was accustomed to as a courtly scholar.
Aethyrra heard the bell toll in the harbour, followed by a booming splash from the cliffside. Her head snapped up as ship hands moved towards her side of the boat, cramming themselves shoulder to shoulder to get a glimpse at whatever was quickly headed towards the boat. Wakes were rocking fishing vessels as something moved to the boat with great, focused intent.
She squinted under the bright sun. Something like a giant was swimming towards the boat. Paddling, like a kith. The crew were pointing and shouting their awe and surprise, yet Aethyrra felt a pointed embarrassment heat up the tips of her ears more than the sun had all morning. She took a step back from the railing where the sailors took over her space, wringing out her hands to ease her rising excitement to return to the land.
Sapadal had taken the statue meant for Eothas and was swimming out to greet them. Many of the sailors had never seen such an entity and had only heard the rumors of Eothas embodying Adra and walking out to the Deadfire Archipelago. For a god to take form and walk Eora was unheard of, but swimming to meet them was almost cosmic comedy.
Aethyrra climbed the stairs to the rigging near the captain’s steering wheel and held onto the ropes. She could see Sapadal stop occasionally and realign themselves to make sure they would meet the ship and be too early or too late. She bounced the heels of her metal boots on the deck of the ship before heaving up to stand on the railing, still gripping the ropes to maintain her balance. She could barely swim and was clad in heavy linens and armor, but she wouldn’t miss this sight for the world and beyond.
“Sapadal!” She wasn’t concerned with making sure her voice was over the din of the open ocean and sailors. There was the connection between God and Godlike that spoke without needing to be heard. She watched Sapadal’s mechanical body stop and bob in the water for a moment before swimming with a renewed urgency to the boat. The captain called for several of the sailors to stop ogling and move to slow the ship and prepare for port, and many moved away to hoist up the sails for them to drift into docking.
Sapadal came to the edge of the boat, looking up at Aethyrra. She met the adra-green eyes of the machine and scrunched up her face at the sight. Seaweed tangled with the various golden elements, giving an appearance like that of hair. Sand that refused to be washed off in the tide dulled the sheen of the metal. A few of the sailors adjusting the rigging peered over at the statue, in awe at something so grand and living - but not kith.
“You couldn’t wait until port?” She gestured out to the dock, giving the statue an exasperated look. Yet she knew that Sapadal could sense her mirth and her longing to be back on dry land, away from the Empire.
The response wasn’t audible. It was a thrum of recognition, of clammed up emotions finally reaching a point of reaching the surface. Sapadal had missed her, and it was a wave crashing and breaking a dam that was long overdue to flood. Her grip on the rope tightened.
“We have seen the other ships escort precious cargo.”
She shifted her weight to rest on one leg, taking the gesturing hand and putting it on her hip. “So an escort it is then?”
“Or swimming.”
“Now you know I can’t swim.”
Several of the sailors were giving her a look: it was the same awe but as seeing her as a Godlike for the first time, communicating with her own God. Her voice was the only one that they heard; the rest was the creaking of the boat and call of gulls.
Sapadal mulled over her proclamation. “We would not let harm come to that which is precious to us.”
“I know.”
She could jump overboard. It was impulsive. She did have to maintain a level of decorum until she had relayed her news to the embassy and explained the most recent developments from the mainland. She would be brought to shore on the machine’s shoulders and would have to wait on the ship and its supplies to catch up.
“Help bring the ship into port - I’ll ‘swim’.” She made a gesture at the term before looking back at the captain. “Throw two of the ropes over the port. We’re getting a personal escort.”
Before the captain could protest or agree, she took a deep breath and a leap of faith. She closed her eyes and held her breath as she braced for impact, steel meeting the water with a crash before a cold muffle of sea water piercing her armor and soaking her skin completely. Bubbles escaped her as she scrambled to the surface, floundering against the weight of her armor before something solid scooped her up and raised her against the pressure of gravity. Her gloved hands rushed to try and wipe the sea water that fought for purchase, and a quick snap absolved her face of the water through a small cantrip of magic.
“The bird dives into water, not knowing how to swim despite flying.”
“Sarcasm isn’t entirely becoming of you.”
She stood on the palm of this great machine, woven trunks and wooden planks determining a hand from an amalgamation of ropes, more wood, golden metal, and adra. Sapadal’s eyes peered at her, inspecting her for any harm before lifting her to their shoulder to escape from the water and dry off.
Two ropes slapped onto the water near them. Aethyrra gripped onto the shields making up Sapadal’s constructed head. They effortlessly took the ropes and, with the collective shouts from the captain and sailors, navigated to port through calculated wading. Aethyrra stood on their shoulder, slinging out the water from her armor and reaching to tap her boots with three fingers, utilizing magic to sling it back into the sea like a bolt.
Returning to port was simple. Sapadal gingerly handed the ropes to the dockhands waiting for the ship. The dockhands did not seem fazed by the Adra machine, nor as Sapadal shifted to let Aethyrra off on the dock. Aethyrra waved to a few of the familiar ones, but continued to glance back to see that Sapadal was still there in the closest thing that they could be to flesh. And for now, that was enough: to be home on soil and in spirit.