A gay story: The Boy from the Sea Ch. 02 *All characters are 18+*
The town of Haven was very quiet at this hour. A few of the shops were open, such as the blacksmith’s and the dry goods store and the textile shop. But even those shops were lazy, chatting with a wife here to pick up a few essentials, working slowly around the store, or sitting in front, enjoying the rare March sunshine. All of the men were either in their fields tilling the earth, or out at sea sweeping their nets for the early cod. Those that weren’t were all gathering in the chapel for the baptizing and naming of Max Tailor’s baby girl.
Only three people saw the light craft Windward speeding into the harbor at breakneck pace.
One was a child playing in the mud puddles at the edge of the cobbled main road, one was a plump fisher wife trying to decide between a bolt of blue fabric and grey fabric, and the last was the old proprietor of the tannery.
They watched out of boredom as the light craft halted crazily (but skillfully) at the dock and the shirtless young owner tie it up frantically. His boat was empty. ‘What’s the rush?’, all three of his watchers wondered curiously. Then they saw that the boat wasn’t empty.
The lean sun-browned back of Christopher Angler bent low in the boat and came out with a limp figure. All three of them instantly thought it was a girl because of the distance and the long whitish hair that hung in a curtain over Chris’s arm.
The young man fled, the person in his arms bouncing and flopping lifelessly. Even from the distance the person looked strange, very pale, and with a God-awful sunburn. Rumors began to spread as Christopher ran to the Spaewife with the strange boy in his arms.
—
Christopher was panting with exhaustion. It took strength to hold the flapping sail taut against the wind, and he had not taken a single break while fleeing across the sea. Every meter of the way he had been tugging the sail out further to catch another iota of wind and another whisper of speed. He had never coaxed the Windward so fast and his arms felt like bars of white-hot lead.
The boy was bundled up in his arms. His legs were long and girlishly slender, and with that odd hairless skin that he found so eerie. The boy’s arms were locked firmly around his neck and those eyes wouldn’t leave his face.
The boy’s eyes were also eerie. They were as large in his face as a child’s eyes, almost abnormally large and a strange shade of the deepest blue-purple he had never seen. His eyes didn’t even seem to reflect the light. They were shiny with tears and the skin around them that was paler and not so damaged by the sun was red and swollen with weeping. The cracked and blistered lips had not opened once, and he had not made any noises.
“You’ll…be okay…boy…” he gasped between gasping for air.
He was running up the rocky path to the Spaewife’s hut and the rocks cut his bare feet but he didn’t care. When he was at the doorway he shouted.
“Spaewife let me in! Its an emergency!”
The Spaewife came running from out back, wearing a knee-length gardening dress, her hands and knees and feet black with dirt and her eyes wide with surprise. She saw the burnt silent boy in his arms and did not ask questions.
“Come in Christopher.”
—
The Spaewife’s hut was small and filled with herbs. A cat perched on a dresser that had been made from worn salt-blown driftwood.
“He was… in my nets I have…no idea where he…came from.” Chris was still gasping for air.
She pointed to the bed. “Get that shirt of him and put him on the bed. There is a pitcher on the dresser, so try to give him some water slowly, I can get some ointment for his sunburn and those marks on his arms.”
Marks? Christopher looked at the arms that were feebly clinging to his neck and saw that the net he had been tangled him had caused several raw angry welts on his arms and legs.
He swore softly and went to the bed to set him down. The boy refused to release him and he made his first noise. It was a wordless begging whimper. So much fear in that one little sound…
“Hush… I wont leave you boy. Please, please let me go.”
He spoke softly, as if trying to soothe a spooked animal. After that the boy let him duck out of the circle of his arms and gently pull off the shirt. There he got another shock.
The boy’s torso was blank and featureless. He didn’t even have nipples or a navel. There was nothing but smooth white skin that was a little burnt near the collarbone. He quickly covered up the boy before the Spaewife could see.
He poured the water into a small bone-china saucer before cradling the boy’s limp head in one hand. He nudged the thin edge of the saucer between his swollen blistered lips and tilted it.
The boy weakly sucked at the edge of the saucer. It was as if he hardly knew what to do with it, and despite Christopher’s careful tilting of the saucer most of it dribbled down his chin or dripped onto the bedspread.
Christopher waited for a few moments; if the boy drank too much right away he would vomit. The boy reached for the saucer, making soft mewling noises.
By the second saucer the strange young man was able to take about half of it. By the third he was only dribbling a little.
The Spaewife came back with a thick club-like branch of a spiky green plant. “Chris, I’ll take over, peel the skin away with your knife and try and scoop out some of the clear jelly, it’s really good on burns.
Christopher dug into the aloe plant with his knife and fingers when he felt a soft tingling sensation on his arm. He looked over and the boy on the bed was reaching with one weak arm, touching his upper arm in a touch so light it was like a breath of wind. Those glassy indigo eyes never left him.
The Spaewife pulled down the coverlet and gasped softly, her eyes going over the unmarked skin of his torso and the complete absence of body hair. Christopher tensed and the boy mewed softly, grasping Chris’s arm with clammy cold fingers.
“I wont tell anyone.” The Spaewife said in a shaky voice. “I wont be the one to make sure they burn this poor creature at the stake. But you have to hide him, too many people come in and out of my hut.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Chris whispered.
He scooped his fingers full of a clear cold jelly and smeared it on those red shoulders and the reddened blistered mess of the boy’s cheekbones and forehead. Touching the red skin was like touching a stone left by the fire, and the jelly dissolved instantly, bringing coolness and relief. The lost young boy on the bed wavered in and out of consciousness as the two humans nursed his fragile body.
—
Christopher wrapped the boy completely in a quilt, preparing to bring him back to his hut.
The Spaewife looked at him with glittering eyes. “Repeat back what I told you.”
Chris took a deep breath. “Keep him well hydrated, lots of water. Don’t give him solid food at first, just broth. Take him outside, but only at night and in the early mornings to work on getting a protective tan.”
Chris looked at her hopefully and hefted the boy up in his arms. His bare feet poked from one end of the rolled-up blanket.
“Almost all of it.” The Spaewife murmured. “Everyone in the township is going to be nosing around your hut. If you go fishing, take him with you, and if anyone sees him make sure it’s in a dim-lit room and he’s fully clothed. From the neck up he looks strange, but at least he looks humanly strange.”
She sighed. “I don’t know what he is, but tell me if you figure anything out.”
—
Chris managed to scurry back to his house with no one noticing him. He was thankful that his hut was a mile away from the township, it had made it hard to carry the boy (who was light, but seemed to grow heavier with every step), but at least it would discourage a few of the visitors.
The hut was dim and small. All the windows and the door were open to let in sunshine and breeze, because he had nothing in the hut to steal. A few nets he had been mending were hung over the rafters and a few hens ran and scratched in the coop outside.
Christopher set the boy down and unwrapped him. He was awake again and looked relieved when the blanket was taken off. Chris couldn’t help but stare at that featureless torso and hairless body. He was shocked when he felt stirrings of life below his hemp belt. He had only ever felt that way towards Max.
He shuddered and went to get some water. He poured it in a cup and the boy reached for it. He put the cup in the pale boy’s hand and watched as he slurped messily, spilling water over his chest. It was so strange; it was as if he had never used a cup in his life.
Chris sat on the four-legged driftwood stool next to the bed.
“Hello boy.”
The boy looked at him with those eyes, and it was impossible to know what he was thinking.
“I found you in my nets, and I have no idea how you got there, or even…or even if you’re human. I don’t care, you’re just a hurt kid and I wont let anyone hurt you. You may not understand me now, but I just want you to know that.”
Chris put his hands on his chest. “My name is Christopher.”
The boy cocked his head slightly.
“Chris-to-pher… you try it, Chriiiiisssstoooopheeeer.”
He repeated his name several more times and was about to give up when the boy reached out to touch his chest and whispered something that sounded like, “Kissafer.” It was so hard for him to speak that word; his face was twisted with concentration.
“Good!” Chris encouraged. “Try it again, Chris… toe….fur.” Saying every syllable like it’s own sentence.”
“Kariss… toe…fur.”
“Christopher.”
“Christopher.”
With every repetition, the boy’s face did not twist so much, it became easier for him to warp his tongue around the foreign sounds. Soon he was saying the name over and over the right way.
“Very good!”
“Christopher!”
Chris laughed and the boy smiled weakly and joyfully, the smile crackled some of the thin scabby skin on his cheeks and he winced with pain.
“Alright boy, now what is your name?”
“Christopher!”
Chris frowned. “You can’t have that name, it’s mine. What is your name?”
“Christopher!”
Chris started laughing, he couldn’t help it. The boy giggled with him. In a burst of inspiration, he reached out and touched the boy’s thin nipple-less chest.
A burst of understanding filled the boy’s face and he spat out a gargle of at least a dozen unpronounceable syllables. Christopher’s brow furrowed.
“Adrinalaleitafel?” He was guessing wildly, half of those weren’t right.
The boy giggled and said his name again.
“Aderelaleritianafel?” a little closer, but still very wrong.
The boy thought for a moment, and them spat out a very simplified version of his name, something that he thought his new caregiver could pronounce.
Chris understood that he was given a dumbed down version, so he promised himself to say it right.
“Adriel?”
The boy nodded and shrugged as if to say, ‘eh, close enough.’
“Adriel.” Chris murmured.
“Christopher.” Adriel agreed.
*Sorry for the briefness and lack of sex, I plan to remedy that for the next chapter.*