Page 5 of Buoy
Rhys found himself unable to concentrate on the lecture outside. Beneath his bare feet, the grass was still wet from the morning dew. The air breezy, and he had to hold down his notes with a hand-sized quartz crystal. The table he shared with another student sank into the soft ground, along with their chairs. The other ten students had the same problem, so they weren’t alone, but no one mumbled a word about it. Rhys kept sinking deeper to the ground until his knees were to his chin. He didn’t dare interrupt the lesson to readjust, even though he could barely peer over the table like he was a toddler.
Bright orange and yellow marigolds waved in the wind like a sea of dancers wearing puffy skirts, and they caught Rhys’ attention.
Master Hova, one of several of the school’s centaur teachers, droned on and on about… well, Rhys couldn’t remember. He craned his neck to glance at his notes to find he’d doodled a ship. Not any ship, though, it had the figurehead of The Golden Drake. It wasn’t very good, but it was at least recognizable. To him anyway.
It was early fall, which meant it was a long way to summer yet, and he couldn’t wait. Hopefully, next year, Soren could go farther than the docks. Rhys had already planned out what he’d show his friend.
He’d been researching how to break binding spells, but so far they’d all been too complicated for what knowledge he had. He drew up a plan in his head about how he could learn what he needed to help un-tether Soren from the docks. And if need be, from the pirates themselves.
Something buzzed against Rhys’ shoulder, and he swiped at it, irritated. There shouldn’t be any bugs out in the school’s yard. It was the second years’ job to see to pest control, and he had done a good job researching the year before when it was his class’s turn. The buzz came again, and he swatted, slapping himself, which rang out. But his fingers tangled with something long and hairy, and he looked up to find Master Hova glaring down at him.
“Where is your head?” Master Hova slammed a hand atop Rhys’ table, startling him from his thoughts. “Care to share?” The centaur swished his tail and stamped a back hoof on the soft grass. Before Rhys could say anything, he swiped Rhys’ paper and examined it. His thick brows came together, and he tilted his head. “Exquisite detail on the wings, but this is not an art session, Rhys.” His gaze dropped to see Rhys practically sitting on the ground. “Adjust your chair.” He handed the paper back and trotted to the front of the students. “Meet me after class.”
Rhys sighed. He’d probably get stall mucking duty.
Standing, he pulled his chair from the sucking mud, only to sink again over the rest of the lecture. Because this was herbal lessons, no one was allowed to use magical abilities. They had to rely on their memory, books, and knowledge. Otherwise Rhys would have hardened the ground.
After another hour and still no concentration, the ground beneath him littered with holes from his constantly readjusting his seat, Rhys stayed behind, waiting for his punishment. But the marigolds caught his attention again. And perhaps he could put a cloaking spell on Soren’s tether, but Rhys wasn’t strong enough in magic to—
“Rhys.” Master Hova’s voice startled him from his daydream. “What has you so distracted these last few weeks?”
Weeks? He wet his lips. Had it really been weeks?
“Rhys.” Master Hova’s tail swished irritably, and he crossed his arms. He had a sleek chestnut horse for legs and a tanned naked human torso. Thick leather bracelets lined both wrists. He kept his strawberry blond hair long, braided over his shoulder and down to his human navel. His face looked much younger than his century of life. Most would guess his human age is quite young, around late twenties to mid-thirties. But trying to age a shifter type or centaur was usually useless.
Rhys scratched at his elbow. Embarrassment sunk in, heat rose to his cheeks and up his hairline. “A boy I know back home.”
“Ah.” Master Hova chuckled. His whole angry demeanor melted away.
“It’s not like that.” Rhys rubbed a finger along the edge of the tabletop, not daring to look at the teacher until Master Hova puffed out a breath that sounded annoyingly like a laugh.
Master Hova cocked an eyebrow. “Of course it’s not.”
“It’s not.” Rhys didn’t like boys. He didn’t think. Not entirely sure. But he enjoyed being around Soren, even if it had been such a short time.
Rhys gathered his belongings, rolling the picture of the ship gently so as not to destroy it. His crystal paperweight and other papers he shoved into his bag slung on the back of the chair. He realized the bottom was caked in mud and he frowned as he tried to flake it off. He hadn’t been dismissed, so he waited for his punishment, staring off into the field of marigolds.
Master Hova’s big hand dropped to Rhys’ shoulder and squeezed. “You’re drawing in class instead of paying attention, so whatever it is with the boy, figure it out. And while you do, write a five-page essay on pixie dust and its proper uses for healing. Needs to be on my desk in two days. Dismissed.”
Rhys opened his mouth to argue, but for what? He’d enjoy the research. And he really needed to stop thinking about Soren so much.
Chapter 3
SOREN(AGE11)
Washing up after his duties, Soren tugged on a clean shirt and wrapped the rope he used as a belt around his waist. His hair was a tangled mess like usual, nothing he could do about it now, so he gathered and twisted it all together into a bun at his nape and tied it with another length of rope.
Over the last year, he thought of Rhys often. What must it be like to go to the mage academy? What would it be like to have loving parents? What life was like off a pirate ship? He couldn’t decide if he wanted Rhys to be waiting for him, or wanted the boy to have forgotten about him entirely. He did have school and other friends, unlike Soren.
He climbed the stairs to the deck, then walked down the gangplank to the dock. The area was empty other than the crew. His shoulders sagged, but he’d been cooped up for so long his legs needed to stretch. Barefoot, as always, he barely noticed how rough the wooden boards were beneath his feet.
Maybe Rhys had only been an illusion. Someone he made up to keep himself entertained the year before. But then why didn’t he keep the imaginary friend alive on the ship? He shook his head. Rhys was real. He had proof in the warm coat and the food he’d eaten in dark corners until it ran out.
At the edges of the dock, where Rhys would usually come in from, Soren paced and picked at his stubby nails. The rest of the rowdy crew headed to Vex’s tavern to waste coin. Like always, Soren was stuck. The stupid spell that tethered him to the dock charged once Bellani stepped off the ship.
The sun was setting, throwing oranges, pinks, and purples against the fading blue sky. Soren watched fat clouds sail across and waited for darkness to fall.
Fortunately for him and his nervous stomach, he didn’t have to wait much longer for his friend. Rhys ran in from the main road and stopped short, right in front of Soren with a grin on his face.
