A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia)

[Sören]

She said nothing.

Sören was surprised she possessed the capability, and disappointed that whatever magical lure had seemed fused to her aura last night might only prove to be a veneer. He watched her a moment longer, but when it was clear she really would offer nothing he turned his attention out to the view. His elbows rested on his knees, one hand a cage around the other. The lap of waves held no real enticement; it was unlikely the creature would be glimpsed by some divine act of fate just because he was searching, but there was little else to focus on. Meanwhile he held the runes within easy grasp – it would only take a tightening of his fist to summon their wroth – but it was only in preparation. If Kemala called upon her gift he would recognise the feeling. And then they would see what happened.

At the lake’s centre she killed the engine, and they floated in the abyss. Many hundreds of miles lingered in impenetrable darkness below; a thousand possible secrets, but Sören was only interested in one. When the hum died the silence was palpable, not just to his ears, but to his bones. The gentle rock of the boat felt like a mockery. No wonder Elias Donovan had been so bitter at the search. There was so much emptiness here.

In the quiet that followed he found himself thinking about Declan. But it only hardened his jaw until he thought his teeth might crack with the pressure. Guilt made him brittle. Kemala was a poor companion by comparison.

He frowned down at the bowels of the boat. The scuffed tips of his boots. And moved on to considering ways he might encourage the experiment along when she leaned out over the edge, and Sören’s attention naturally followed. Impossible not to, there was nothing interesting to force his focus out here. Though if she was as cold as she claimed, a caress of the icy waters below seemed a remarkably stupid curiosity.

A comment callous and sharp bit the tip of his tongue in response, but when she brought her fingers to her mouth he said nothing. He was aware of his breathing, and not enamoured of the ties of attraction she knotted so easily around his wrists. But she only looked at him with an impatient demand for answers he did not yet have to give. Her sigh made him frown, and he fastidiously swallowed down his frustration with the judgement. She was the key. Just not one that could be swiftly turned.

And it seemed she was not the only one. The ignition lay utterly dead when she went to restart the engine. Sören gave her a mild look of blame, but seemed woefully unsurprised given his initial appraisal of her choice. At least it wasn't leaking yet. She’d only had one job.

“I know nothing of boats, Kemala.” He shrugged, much as she had dismissed his own questions earlier. “It seems you are stuck with me and my quest a while longer, unless you plan to swim back to shore. Though I believe the water is quite cold.” Sören did not smile, though he perhaps seemed amused. He did not look at her lips. Instead he flipped the straps on his pack to dig through the supplies he had spent the morning gathering while she had procured this pile of rusted bones. There was a thermos in here somewhere, and if she was not too unpleasant, he might even offer to share.