"Hello?" he said.

The water splashed and a single drop scalded his knee. He winced and brushed it aside, then shut up. The hot pool drew a rippling human stick figure, as if recognizing him. The image faded. Now it made a trio of shapes, breaking apart and reforming. Maybe a bowl, a bird, a rock. They floated above the pond and wobbled toward him.

He waited for the vision to offer some better explanation, but each of the three waggled in turn. Maybe an offer, a choice. He gingerly reached out and got no rebuke. All right, which? He'd seen the islanders working with magic to manipulate stone, conjure and transport water, and turn the wind to guide their ships. Any of these would be a boon. He'd begun learning the "Riptide Style" martial arts that relied on water magic. For his long-term plans, he wasn't sure what was best. "I'm not sure why I came to the islands," he said. "Did you summon me?"

The three offerings bobbed insistently. "All right, then. They're all useful." Arlen reached toward the bowl that might represent Water.

The vision in steam rushed into him, making him feel warm and buoyed up. The cave dimmed, making the seething pool seem brighter. On second thought, that wasn't it; instead a new kind of glow emanated from it. And from his outstretched hand. Not ordinary light, but something he could interpret like a million tiny sparks all around. Now that they were visible, they swarmed to the cave's center and shaped themselves to speak somewhat more clearly.

Shafts of light. Mixed shapes and sounds. A furnace glow and the sound of metal being struck. A hammer dominated the vision, swinging again and again. But then a shark appeared and savaged the thing, biting it in half and scattering the pieces. The hammer was back. A man picked it up, held it aloft, and got devoured, shown with the same vindictive detail. Then another man did the same to the same effect. After that he saw what might've been islands, pearls, a storm, but he couldn't make sense of it.

Arlen said, "Thank you for this gift. I'll use it to improve the lives of the islanders. But what do you want, exactly?"

The visions grew cloudier, as though trying to express too much at once. Bits of them grew stronger and faded in turn without making a clear impression. Then the force behind it all faded away and the heated pool grew dim again, even to his enhanced senses.

Arlen took stock of what he'd done. He didn't worship these island spirits or whatever they were, and certainly didn't plan to start making sacrifices. He'd accepted their gift, and been given a vision of sorts.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Come to think of it, the hammer looked a lot like the fancy iron-headed one by the right hand of Chief Thoko.

#

Arlen no longer had the halo of trapped air around his head. Now that he knew where the surface was, though, he decided to risk leaving. He took deep breaths and then ducked into the sea to flip around and look for the exit. There was daylight now, showing the way to the surface. He returned to the cave to recover and steel himself, then swam for it.

When his lungs burned he began trailing a thin stream of bubbles from his mouth, suppressing the urge to breathe. He broke through into bright sky, gasping. With a tired grin he paddled to shore and dragged himself up. Some of the islanders were out in their fishing boats now or walking around the village to cook and clean.

Arlen dripped his way inland toward his hut. His hunger only let him rest for a few minutes, though, and he sought out the communal grill. The cooks were finishing up their flatbread and tossed him a piece to juggle in his hands till it was cool.

While he ate, Voz arrived, looking startled. "You're back? You gave up already?"

"It worked already. I don't know what the vision I saw means."

Voz shushed him. "Mystic insight comes after breakfast."

"Agreed."

They went to Arlen's hut and Voz said, "The spirits blessed you, then?"

Arlen described what he'd seen. Voz's ears lay flat and he went quiet, finally answering, "The will of the spirits is hard to read, sometimes. It's best that you not discuss it with others. Especially not with Chief Thoko, understand?"

"Voz, is there some problem between you and him?"

The shaman turned away, wringing his hands. "You wouldn't understand. Our land has changed since he took power, but it's better that we move forward now. He has plans and in the long run, they'll help."

"What's this I've heard about an island full of ghosts?"

"Newshore. Or Death Island as some call it. We left it alone for ages, but now it's being slowly tamed. Hence the iron weapons and armor."

"Which he gets from these Mirefolk, in return for letting them raid other islands?"

Voz turned toward Arlen with his webbed hands gripping the sides of his own head. "I know, I know! The Mire is a wild and untameable island, for now, and the people are beasts. They would attack their neighbors anyway. Thoko made them useful by harvesting the ore. It fits together, see? We gradually solve one problem and make the best of a bad situation. Don't come here from spirits-know-where and think you know it all."

"All right," said Arlen. "I need to learn before I'm qualified to have much of an opinion. Since the spirits chose to accept me, can you start teaching me magic?"

Voz relaxed somewhat. "That's something I can control more fully. Hold out your hands."

The first lesson didn't take long. Though Arlen lacked the webbing between his fingers, Voz showed him how to cup a bit of water between his palms and then focus on it, until a pale glow rose from his skin like fog. The water floated into it and stayed there, inches above his fingers. Until his concentration broke and he lost it all.

Voz finally smiled. "That's a start. Practice... but say nothing of this vision."