You know, when the ship announcement had said to “Prepare for Inclement Weather” or whatever, I didn’t know what to expect. I assumed it meant heavy rain and winds. And, while that is technically correct, I had no idea what that weather meant when one isn’t on dry land.

The ship lurched to the side, my soap and shampoo bottle sliding across the shower floor to slam into the wall. My comb, razor, deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste tube slid that way as well, hitting the shower door with a racket that had been my lullaby for the last four days. I had given up trying to keep on my things off the floor after the first day, and by then I didn’t have the strength or inclination to put them back in my travel bag.

You see, I was unlucky enough to discover I was susceptible to sea-sickness. When everything was smooth sailing, the ship was big enough that the small waves didn’t matter but as soon as rough weather entered the occasion, my stomach decided that anything inside my body needed to be OUT.

Occasionally there’d be a lull in the storm where I’d be able to get some water and chicken broth in me. Luckily I was in one of the bigger cabins that had a microwave and mini-fridge so I didn’t have to leave the room to get food. Passengers were only permitted to leave their cabins for meals.

Most of the passengers had access to ship-wide information channels provided by the TV’s in the rooms, so I knew the ship was waaaay off course, heading south, pushed by the relentless storm.

Alice managed to figure out which room was mine (Apparently I’m the only Colm on board.) and called my room to check up on me, which did a lot to raise my spirits. We talked for all of thirty seconds before I restarted my adventures in dry-heaving.

The storm finally broke on the fifth day. I passed out after drinking as much water as I could and slept through most of the sixth day.

The cruise was officially two days behind schedule when I woke up.

* * *

“Are you feeling okay?” Alice asked.

She was wearing a light green tank top with a layered teal skirt, her hair done up in a high tail. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot from missed sleep but any bags she might have had were either not there or well hidden with skillful application of makeup.

We were in the main dining area at the front of the ship, this one indoors and away from the steady rain still falling on the ship. While the rain hadn’t abated, the hurricane force winds had. I was currently working on my third bowl of chicken soup, which the kitchen had wisely made available for the passengers recovering from the rough seas.

I know why she had asked the question: I looked like shit. I had caught my face in the mirror this morning after my brief shower and I looked haggard. I was paler than normal, which made the four days of stubble on my chin more pronounced. Heavy, black/purple bags were under my bloodshot eyes.

“Better than yesterday,” I said after swallowing. I had been debating trying my hand at some minor healing magic that I had been studying but never attempted, hoping to heal my nausea. Side effects for improper casting of healing magic were things like cancer, mutation and insanity, so that paints a picture of my desperation right there.

She winced, a guilty look crossing her face briefly. “Some vacation, eh?”

“Hah,” I said without much emotion. “Figures the first vacation I’d book would be full of trouble.”

“I’m sorry it turned out this way,” she said.

I thought about it for a moment. “While I’m not happy about the amount of stomach troubles I’ve had on this trip—”

I paused briefly as I pondered if there was a way I could manipulate my body to get rid of my sea-sickness. “I am, however, glad I met you.”

A complicated emotion crossed her face. “Colm--”

“No pressure,” I interrupted. “I’m not suggesting anything more than the simple fact that I am very glad I met you. If nothing comes from our interaction after the cruise ends, I will still consider myself richer for the experience.”

She studied my face in silence for a minute, her expression enigmatic. She suddenly squared her shoulders, as if coming to a decision.

“There’s something I got to do,” she said as she rose from the table. She crossed to my side and gave me another kiss on the cheek. “I’ll… see you tonight?”

Confused by her behavior and elated by the kiss, I could only nod. She smiled at me, the expression bittersweet, and left in the direction of her cabin.

* * *

I didn’t see her that night. She didn’t answer when I called her room so I let her be and just spent the night in my cabin, slowly going through my supply of canned soup. I checked the TV and found that the ship was on its way back on course, heading mostly north now to get to Hawaii.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I flipped through the channels, tried to watch a few movies. I couldn’t find anything to find my interest. An old anxiety began to crawl up my spine and I frowned to myself.

I’ve been working myself to exhaustion these past years to build up a power base so that what happened to—

I wrestled my mind away from that train of thought, not wanting to ruin an already problematic vacation. But the fact remains that I need to do something or my mind was going to pick itself apart. I didn’t want to be around people, so what did that leave me?

Well, let’s Google what causes sea sickness and see if I can do anything about it.

After reading a few articles and discovering that the fault lies with my inner ear, I decided I wasn’t going to mess with those delicate parts of my anatomy. When I make changes to my body, I do it over the space of several weeks so that if I notice anything going wrong I can backtrack before it gets bad. And messing with my inner ear sounds like a recipe for disaster if I ever heard one.

Next time I’m on deck (look at me, using nautical terms) I’ll see if the shop has any anti-nausea medicine. They should, right? It’s logical.

I found myself pacing and forced myself to stop. The amount of space there was to “pace” in the cabin was like 5 feet and was making me dizzy.

“Fuck me, I should probably meditate,” I said out loud.

Goddammit, I hated meditating. While the benefits are numerous and some spells are outright impossible without the focus it provides, it forces me to examine my thoughts and boy do I hate most of my thoughts. I am not ashamed to say that I hide from my past if at all possible. Aside from my interactions with my mother, my home life was a unique mix of suburban paradise and hell. During the school year I had friends, fun and ice cream. During the summer—my father came home.

I still don’t know what the mean fuck did abroad, as the only words he ever spoke to me were to criticize, instruct or shout at me. Questions were regarded as challenges to his authority or ‘disrespect’ and—you get the idea, the guy was a prick of the highest order.

After I escaped to college, I thought my life would get easier. As you can guess from my… profession, that isn’t the case.

I took several deep breaths and let them out slowly. FINE. Fine. Let’s go meditate. I’m sure all the horrible memories I’m suppressing won’t be super horrible THIS time.

The fact that I am so agitated about the mere thought of meditation is what decided it for me. Yes, I dislike the practice, but the mere thought of it usually didn’t set my anxiety going like this.

I kicked off my crocs and hopped on my bed, sitting cross legged with my hands on my knees. I rolled my shoulders, neck and began the slow deep breaths that began every session. I slowly acknowledged every sensation within my body. My sore back from spending days hunched over the toilet, the ache in my stomach. The tightness in my shoulders. The crusty feeling on my eyes. I acknowledged these sensations and let them pass. Slowly, they became distant. They didn’t necessarily lessen, but their importance fell away.

This was the part I liked. The part where I’d relax and whatever was wrong with my body would seem to fade. But as those problems fell away, more rose to take their place.

The little sounds in the cabin came next. The sound of my breathing, coming from within my skull and without. The patter of rain on the porthole of my cabin. The subtle vibrations of the ship in motion. The faint tick of the clock on the other side of the room.

I noted these and let them pass.

Next I focused on my magic and the ambient energies around me. My own magic I visualized as a second set of veins and arteries running through my body, from my toes, to fingertips to scalp. Instead of flowing to and from my heart, it originated in a place behind my solar plexus. Everything “looked” okay there so I moved on to my wards. There were three of them, one on the door and on the two walls towards the front and back of the ship. I didn’t bother with one on the wall that faced the ocean, as the porthole didn’t open and was too small to let anything other than a small dog through should the glass break.

I noticed myself drifting and brought myself back into the exercise. That was all part of the meditation. Distractions were par of the course, and you just had to accept them and let them pass. With that done I went back to my wards, noted their aura and let them—

Wait, what the fuck?

I frowned, mediation suddenly forgotten as I stretched my senses. There was a very subtle effect going on, so subtle that I’m surprised I noticed it. In fact, if I hadn’t badgered myself into meditating, I doubt I would have. The effect was minor but seemed to stretch as far as I could feel. It didn’t feel malicious, but it also didn’t have the soothing feel of a beneficial working. But one thing was clear:

There was another practitioner on this boat.

“What the fuck!” I said as my eyes shot open.

Panic fell on me like a weighted blanket. I slowly got off the bed, my muscles tense and hands grasping at my sides. Even knowing what I was looking for, it was really hard to focus on the magic effect laying over this portion of the ship. Or was it over the entire ship? Such a working was beyond me. I could MAYBE make a series of wards that would effect the entire ship, but this… whatever it is, felt like the work of a single spell.

Suddenly the tension flowed out of me and I began to laugh helplessly. Of course! Another thing on the pile of things that had gone wrong. I took a deep breath and calmed down.

The first thing to do would be to find this spell and determine it’s nature. It didn’t FEEL like it was affecting my mind but the thing was so subtle that I couldn’t put anything past it. The problem was, that same subtlety would make it hard for me to track down with just my senses. And I left most of my tools home because WHO WOULD NEED A FOCUSING LENS ON VACATION—

Okay, okay, okay, calm down Colm. You’ve had a rough couple of days and spent the last eight years being afraid a certain something would find you and rend your immortal soul, six of which you’ve been running around in a mad dash to prepare. It’s alright. Take yet another deep breath. This is probably not related to you in the slightest. Just because there’s magic on the ship doesn’t mean it has to do with you. I mean, if you could figure out magic, others could, right? Of course! Who else would write those books you learned from?

Okay, I—

Okay.

For my peace of mind I need to find the origin of this aura. There’s no way I’ll be able to relax or even sleep if I’m worried about strange magic affecting me. The problem is, all I have is some paper, my engraver and my pens. I know a couple spell combinations that I could make that would basically function as a magical dousing rod, but they wouldn’t work on anything as flimsy as vellum or paper. I looked around the room, scanning for anything usable.

My eyes landed on the little table. The little wooden table, with it’s four little wooden legs.

The cruise probably wouldn’t like me breaking stuff in my room but whatever. They can bill me.