Sort
If he had not been sailing for four days, Elias would have thought the boat had come to rest on the same shore. This place was green and foggy, cold as Scotland but wet like Ireland.
There was something in the ground, though, something in the silt of the dirt that made Elias know he was closer to home.
Willem lived far from the coast like Brogan did, and he wondered how else they may be similar.
Elias’s pony was shaggy haired and dark, snorting impatiently to be released from the stables. Elias looked at the sky and knew how wetness in the air turned to droplets on the skin. He purchased a brand-new waxed cloak for the long ride.
Willem was the alchemist of currents, Brogan had told him. Waves. Wind streams, electricity, motion. Flexibility given flesh; no storm could uproot him so far could he bend.
And she’d sounded so wistful.
Elias liked how the alchemists were like a scattered family. They didn’t all like each other, but there were respect and recognition. Even far from each other, they managed to keep in touch with the generalities.
He rode and stopped and rode again, giving his borrowed horse time to catch his breath, so thick was the air.
The sky was so gray he could not tell the time of day; suffice as to say, it was not night.
He could see Willem’s house from a distance and, to his surprise, Willem outside it. He was a brushstroke of darkness against endless green, halfway up a hill. When Elias was meters away, he stopped walking and waited for him.
Elias tied his horse to Willem’s fence and went up to meet him.
Willem lived in a round house with dark wood outside, several pens, and a garden. The geese gathered to greet Elias, honking loudly.
Willem stayed halfway up the hill as Elias climbed looking down at him.
Elias was surprised to see that Willem was young, maybe only two or three years older than himself, not yet twenty-five.
He was very tall and not beautiful, but he had long, dark hair that the wind was blowing around his face, and that . . . that was beautiful enough.
Willem smiled when Elias got close enough to speak.
“Brogan sent me,” Elias said in German.
“You are different than Victor described,” Willem replied, also in German. His accent was closer than Brogan’s, and it made something stir in Elias’s chest.
Willem blinked at him, owlishly. “My sheep have run. They need to be brought back.”
“How many?” Elias asked, rolling up his sleeves.
Willem began climbing the hill again. “Just the four. But it is in their nature.”
He hadn’t expected to work so soon after a hard ride, but Elias knew sheep. He had done this before.
Willem’s sheep were big golden things in need of a shearing. Their matchsticks legs bunched firm hindquarters as they bounded far from home. Willem whistled at them. They turned to look at him, then continued running.
Elias laughed. They were so disobedient and smart. He took off at a sprint to catch up.
It took nearly an hour to get them back into their pen. When they got close to the house, they ran to the gate and bayed like they were more excited to be home than they’d been in the hills.
Elias giggled and swatted them in as Willem watched him, leaning against his fence post. They were both muddy and drenched with fog.
“So, Victor has already been here?” Elias commented. He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay filthy like this for long.
Willem cocked his head to the side in lieu of a reply. Elias decided that he was quite crow-like. In the way he moved and the mischief in his eyes.
“What did he describe me like, if I may ask?”
Willem shrugged. “He does not know you,” Willem said plainly. “He imagines you weak and terrible all at once. Like an adder.”
Elias laughed. He laughed and laughed even though he could tell it was rude. He couldn’t stop himself.
Willem just watched silently, his expression curious, though it would have been his right to be angry.
When Elias finally was able to stop, Willem put a hand on his shoulder.
“We should wash.”