Page 58 of Take No Prisoners
"Stressed chickens taste terrible," Vadim said. "At least I don't play with my food."
"No," the elder said. "You cull too many fish at a time, more than an entire island can eat at once."
"We're supposed to be learning," Niall said, more to Vadim than to Elder Martiz, though his words were also directed toward their teacher. "Why can't I sense your weaves?"
"Sense?" Elder Martiz studied him for a moment. "You sense weaves?"
Niall nodded. Now that he had channeled his own air weaves, he recognized them as dry and angry, while water was wet and calm.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Beatrice has never mentioned these things."
"Apologize and play dumb."
Niall cut eyes at Vadim, but he recognized the fear behind Martiz's demeaning comments. "I'm sorry," he said, flashing what he hoped was his most disarming smile at Martiz. "I'm new to all this. I'm not sure what's associated with the weaves themselves."
Elder Martiz continued to argue with Vadim, but Niall focused on his other senses. Air magic also had its own taste and feel when he used it. He was still struggling with water, but success with the element made him feel calm in a way nothing else had in his life.
As he and Vadim continued to wrangle the bleeding chickens, Niall became more frustrated. Elder Martiz was the most arrogant man he had ever met, and that was saying something after Master Othelio, and even Vadim. Niall tried to watch and learn, but the elder's teaching methods were a lot of grandstanding and not much practical application, especially since Niall couldn't grasp the weave or attempt to replicate it the way he had with air and water. After four hours, he was exhausted and wished for Efren's bed.
Vadim looked as exhausted as he felt. His hair hung past his shoulders in frizzy tangles, and his eyes were smudged with sand from rubbing them so much. When Efren and Stan returned, he brushed off their concern with a grin and a shrug. "Just like old times."
"You still haven't learned a thing," Elder Martiz reprimanded. "You're responsible for dinner tonight."
"For the island?" Vadim smirked. "Or perhaps Efren's sharks would like a meal as well?"
"They prefer catching live fish," Efren said.
"Aye." Vadim inhaled a deep breath. "How many people live here now?"
"Ninety-four."
"On both islands?" Vadim frowned. "That's less than before. Is Elsie still ..."
Efren nodded. "She was six months ago." They both looked to Martiz.
"Aye, your aunt still lives. You would know that if you dared speak with her."
"The woman fucking hates me and threatened to kill herself if I ever came near her." Vadim took another step toward the beach. "I'll see her when she wants to see me, though she will only be happy if I'm standing on the gallows or already hanging from it."
Martiz opened his mouth to speak and closed it again two or three times before he finally turned heel and walked toward the barracks door.
"Gods, you are so dramatic," Efren said. "If you tried even a little to assuage her fear of you, she might speak to you."
"The woman hates me. She has always hated me. There's nothing I could say to change who I am to her or what she thinks I've done."
"You didn't kill your mother," Efren said gently. "Death weavers are born to perfectly healthy mothers all the time."
Vadim sighed. "Aye, but my mother died in childbirth. She would blame me even if I was born another type of weaver, or mundane."
"I'm sorry, old friend." Stan patted him on the back. "Need me to row you out to the fish?"
"I'd like that. We'll have grilled fish on the beach at sunset."
Stan led Vadim toward a small boat tucked under some bushes beside the barracks.
Efren took Niall's hand and pulled him away from the beach, toward the tree line. "Your new clothes should be ready."
Niall didn't question him, especially with the new knowledge that Efren owned the little clothing shop. The short walk through the woods led them to a building little more than a driftwood shack, but the roof was just as well maintained as the one on Efren's house.
