When Destiny Was Stolen

Rinai Tidemaela, a Tide-Runner with fate-bending abilities, was living in Port Hush. He was in a desperate situation. And after working all day at the Fishery & Button Shipyard, he took the carriage back to Port Probability, the capital of his homeland, to push Luck, he had hoped, far enough in his favor. He had tried nudging all the Luck that would be listening at the port casino the night before. The Goddess, Aria, wasn’t listening; she had offered no such luck. He ended last evening with a lost paycheck, bruised ego, and an angry wife. Now, tonight he was at the pub again, hoping to win it all back plus some more. With his ninth child on the way, he needed a win. A big one at that. Work had slowed down, and even if it hadn't, he’d barely be scraping by. He was stupid last night, making weak bets with impossible chances. The Twins laughed at him a little louder after each loss. Today, he was better prepared. The runes that morning had been ambiguous, but they held an air of optimism as they tumbled onto the cloth. He gave an offering of his best shells to Aria at dawn. He carried two of her favor-runes in his pocket and tried to read Syric’s threads, seeing what they might weave. But the strands hid from him tonight. He almost decided to turn around and head home. As he spun on his heel toward the door, he came face to face with Theois, his Unseeing coworker and regular gambling buddy. Now, the common misconception is that Unseeing are blind. They are not blind in the human sense. The Unseeing are descended from the First Men, The Sighted Blood. When they began to treat non-magic folk as less than, and treated the spectacle of magic as more important, they angered the gods. In their anger, they took back their gift of magic from the Sighted Blood. They could no longer see the wonders of magic, though they were still affected by it. Theois' people are the people the Sighted Blood eventually became. 300 years later, Theois and Rinai meet and put into motion the events that change the lives of thousands of people through the ripples of time. The night they met, Theois had never touched games of chance until Rinai roped him in at a tavern with a pool table and a jug of Mulberry wine. Rinai thought he had found an easy mark. He had not. From that day on, Theois was hooked, and the two became fast friends. Tonight, Theois wanted to place a wager. Now, Tide-runners don't bet with ordinary current-marks. They bet with lucky sea glass charms inherently infused with Aria's luck and woven with Syric's fate-threads. Each piece yielded a certain measure of good fortune that was already rightfully yours; you simply received it faster. How much and for how long remained unknown, but you always received something. The glass would hum softly and glow with faint light; when the luminescence died, you set it on Aria's shrine for a day or two to recharge. It was small magic, the carriage waiting an extra second at the curb, or a minor promotion falling into place. Rinai often sold them to outsiders for twice their worth. After all, he was a desperate man with a lot of mouths to feed. Tonight’s wager was immense. If Rinai won, he could clear his debts entirely, letting his family breathe easy for a while. The two men mostly bet on people, not tables. Theois picked a mark, betting on whether Rinai could “nudge” them into specific actions, bets, or blunders. Tonight was especially risky because it relied on multiple people riding the waves of conversation. More people meant more variables, higher odds of failure, and a much steeper payout. Of course, Rinai took it. The conditions were simple, which didn't mean easy, just uncomplicated. Across the pub sat a high-collared Vesperalith scholar in the head seat with four drinking companions. Rinai had to nudge the room until the leader said to each of his four friends in a corrective tone, "Well, actually..." with each friend undoubtedly in the wrong, and all within three hours. Theois wagered the scholar wouldn't manage to correct all four, especially using that exact phrase Tonight, Theois had brought real collateral: a clinking purse of silver and three brilliant, cobalt-blue sea glass charms, fully charged, humming like trapped bees. To an Unseeing, the glass charms brought him luck sure, but he couldn't sway its course like Rinai could. And to Rinai, with nine mouths to feed and an empty pantry, they were salvation. ​"Four corrections. That's four 'Well, actually's,'"Theois murmured, nodding toward the booth where the high-collared Vesperalith sat holding court. "Three hours on the clock. If you can nudge the room into making all four of his friends look like idiots, the glass and the coin are yours.” Theois’s tone carried genuine doubt, and he didn't bother hiding it. That doubt only fueled Rinai's confidence. Theois let his pitch rise just a hair at the end, a tell Rinai knew well. The doubt wasn't for Rinai. Though this should have been impossible if it were any other race. But for a Vesperalith, being a ‘know it all’ wasn't a habit, it was a personality trait the lot of them share. Rinai grinned, thumbed his own dimming charm, and reached for the first thread. The first setup was effortless. The group bickered constantly over music, so Rinai directed his intent toward the tavern stage, heavily stacking the odds that the house band would cover a popular Musical Mycelians track. Just as the threads caught his weave, the pub door swung wide. A cold draft whipped through the room, cutting straight into Rinai like it needed his skin for warmth. He shook it off. He had two months of wages on the line, he had no time for superstitious hesitation. Tide-Runners didn't just spend their luck early; they could peer into the sea glass and see what fortune had in store. The truly skilled could actively haggle with the glass, convincing luck to flow where they directed. Rinai believed himself more than skilled enough. The first three practically gave Rinai the win. As soon as the cover band began the chorus, they stumbled into the opening bars of "I Wanna Join Your Fruiting Circle," butchering the rhythm. Which, of course, sparked the argument over original performances. Rinai could almost anticipate the words before they spoke them. That first, "Well, actually, the band didn't pronounce it like that, it's 'Ruh-zow-bee-uh’ not 'Ree-zoo-bee-uh’." One down. A moment later, a passing server jostled the table, spilling red wine. Instead of helping mop the mess, the scholar spent three straight minutes smugly identifying the exact vintage and the ruined harvest year that produced it. Two down. For the third, an argument ensued over the philosophical difference between a cover song and a rendition. One claimed the renditions were respectful and required talent; the other was child's play. Rinai barely had to convince the sea glass at all; he just gave the ambient threads a polite twitch, and the “Well, actually, neither of your arguments have anything to do with philosophy” basically fell out of the Vesp's mouth. Three of four, with thirty minutes left on the glass, and Rinai was flying on borrowed air. The raw, electric thrum of Syric’s weave felt light beneath his fingertips.