“VANTRA!”
She stopped twirling her purplish red hair around her finger and looked up from the thick book on the desk as Fyrij started and fell off her shoulder. He landed in her lap with an undignified squawk, popped up, ruffled his black feathers, and shrieked his displeasure. He flew through the open doorway, twittering angrily.
She brushed the bits of feather and fur from her skirt. The little avian ended up dozing while she plowed through the texts Lorgan thought she needed to know, though his sleepy chin-rubs were nice.
“Vantra!”
At least Kenosera summoned her, not Katta and Red. After their early morning session, she refused to further test her limits as a conduit between Darkness and Light magic. She ached at the end of those trainings. She throbbed even more, after they and Lorgan attempted to study her neat invisibility spell. She hated feeling like an experiment, and the odd delight they all expressed at her instinctual ability embarrassed her.
The nomad popped his head around the doorway, his green-brown eyes sparkling, his deep, golden-brown hair so ruffled, he must have come from the upper deck. “Come! You have to see this!” he said, motioning her to him with his webbed hand.
See what? Pushing the book from her, she rose, deciding a break would do her, and her ego, good. The more she poured over the study materials, the more she realized how Nolaris stunted her educational and magical growth. Not that she needed more reason to hate her ex-mentor, but she fell further and further into a furious, never-ending pit of loathing at every revelation. She despised her reaction because Sun acolytes should be gracious, but he could never rectify the harm he caused to Laken—and she would never forgive him for it.
Kenosera grabbed her hand and hauled her into the Loose Ducky’s narrow hallway, past the open doors of the cabins in which the other mini-Joyful lounged, and up the lamp-lined stairs to the top deck. Evening had descended during her study, bathing the ship in shadows and mist. She sucked in the sight and smiled. The nights on the sea, and now on the river, held a soft, cozy comfort for her. Staring at waves lit by the amber lanterns, watching sparkles parade through the fog rising from the water, soothed the regret and self-depreciation prickling her soul.
He led her to the bow, and she glanced at the tree-swathed, bush-lined embankments of the Dryanflow, then turned her attention to the three Snake’s Den nomads leaning against the railing, looking up.
She gasped. Giant statues, like the ones Lorgan’s notes described. Three crack-riddled bronze heads balanced on stout necks rose above the thickening fog, overlooking the gentle waves of the river with blank stares. Two stood on the right at a distance, one on the left positioned between them, sentries to the ship’s upstream movement.
She hustled to her entranced friends and leaned over the bar, gaping at the sculptures and the wide, water-worn stone platforms that served as their base. How tall were they? Four, five stories? Their features were decidedly faelareign, though she could not place which ghostly race the age-damaged heads represented. Perhaps the dryans, since the Dryanflow began at Dryanthium, the lake considered their homeland in the Evenacht. The white and green patina fit a water-living people.
Pinkish-gold flames roared up from their open crowns for another story or two, casting the shore in a soft peachy light that made the green foliage look like late-year amber in hue. Did a special wood cause the spectacular color, or did magic play a role?
Gleeful chuckling caught her attention. She glanced back at the pirate captain as he nodded at the heads, thrumming his fingers on his red sash while he rocked back on his boot heels. “Those are the Three Sentries,” he told them, his teeth flashing white in the dim atmosphere. “They kind of act like lighthouses for us sailors. Once you see them, you know you’re deep in Greenglimmer waters.”
Rayva yipped, planted her front legs on the railing next to her, and leaned into the fur-ruffling wind. Vantra thought it an odd position for a vulf, but she panted and looked around and seemed happy enough. Salan slid his chin over the top and whuffled, in no hurry to mimic his partner’s stance.
Kenosera sank his fingers into the black fur and petted him; the whuffling turned to a delighted snarfing pant. Neither the nomad nor his mates thought much about cosseting the shoulder-tall canines, but their presence concerned more than one ghost. After all, other than the oldest spirits, the two had chased each one of them into the Tunnel of Memories. Few forgot the terror of the first vulfy leg of their afterlife judgment journey.
“Dough, do you know who sculpted them?” Lesanova asked, hefting herself up on her tiptoes to better view the platforms. The fog interfered with clear sight, but Vantra thought the waves nearly topped the edges. During heavy rains, they probably did, making the heads appear disconnected from a meaningful base—just like the ghosts in the Fields of the UnRedeemed.
“The legends say that Kjiven did,” the pirate said, pulling at his pointed, dark brown goatee. “He was an elfine ghost thousands of years previous who founded Greenglimmer after the dryans created Dryanthium. Benevolence wasn’t his friend, but he made his faithful followers rich, so they forgave his crustiness. You see, he built Selaserat and placed a barrier across the Dryanflow. Any ship wanting to get to the lake needed to pay a toll.” He motioned to the heads. “He erected them as a beacon to crews, so they knew they were nearing Fekj. The people who didn’t want to pay up ended up getting off there and traveling east to the Gate by foot, and then south, around the Uprise Mountains and to Yjoudespayr. It didn’t take long for travelers and merchants to realize that it was far, far safer, and far, far faster, to just cough up the fee and meander upstream.”
“There were no roads?” Kenosera asked.
“Not any that went straight to Yjoudespayr. That would make it easier to bypass the tolls, which Kjiven and his court didn’t want. They thought the suffering caused by spending thirty days walking out of one’s way would persuade others they had the right of it.”
Vantra winced. Of course. The little tale smooshed her awe; the giant heads would symbolize greed instead of a grand artistic endeavor. How silly of her to think otherwise.
“They’re amazing,” Tagra breathed, his brown eyes lit with curious fire. Now that he had gained the courage to leave the desert with his friends, he viewed everything with excited anticipation. He loved the tour Dough gave of his technology-enhanced galleon, as if he had never seen a boat previously. He loved meeting the whale-esque greol and his swim of timids, who escorted them to the mouth of the river before turning away; fresh water was not a salt-dweller’s friend. He loved the stories that the mini-Joyful and the pirates told of previous visits to the Elfiniti Rainforest, and he loved to stand on deck, savoring the view, even if all he noticed were waves.
Vantra had done the same, but she liked to think, with a bit more aplomb.
Dedari laughed and nudged his shoulder with her own. “Everything’s amazing,” she teased.
“Well, everything is,” he grumbled. Both she and Kenosera eyed him; his cowering upon first beholding the Snake proved that grand pronouncement false.
Reminded of Fyrij’s fear-filled reaction to the giant reptile, Vantra glanced around, wondering where the caroling was. His curiosity should have prodded him outside before then. As if her thoughts summoned him, he winged to Rayva’s forehead and lit on top, his wings fluttering until he gained his balance. He chirped and studied the statues, as enthralled as any of them. So inquisitive, her little avian. He and Tagra had gotten into all sorts of mischief on the trip from Merdia to Selaserat, and if he did not keep company with the nomad, he and Kjaelle dipped their noses into anything and everything.
She wished she could have joined them in their boaty adventures. Instead, she sat with Lorgan and started her preliminary burrowing into the theory and spells he thought she needed to know.
Poor her.
Two lights flashed ahead of them, one blue, one green. Considering their height, they must belong to a small boat. Vantra squinted as responding flashes erupted from the helm, lighting the mist around them and producing a glare.
Dough rubbed his hands together and planted himself at Rayva’s side. “Making the rounds,” he said, his dark eyes hardening before he fluttered his hand, as if dusting away cobwebs. “Not that we should have trouble, but not all of Fekj’s guiders are on the up-and-up.”
“You’d know,” Kenosera said with a wide smile.
A grungy metal boat with a tall green flag, three benches and a motor on the back sped through the fog, two beings within. One steered, the other hunched over a box. Both wore cloaks, so she could not tell from which people they hailed. They came close enough the hunched one could yell at them through a cone while they idled.
“Docking in Fekj?”
“Not this time,” Dough shouted, raising his hand. “We’re bound for Selaserat.”
The being nodded, set the cone down, and scribbled on a book they pulled from the box before grabbing the cone again. “There’s a grounded ship just past the ferry. Lit up, so—”
They jerked and slumped forward, dropping the cone. It tumbled onto the covered front with a reverberating clang, rolled to the edge, and slid over and into the water. Vantra blinked as flames rose from their back.
Their friend shrieked and lunged at them, keeping them in the boat by snagging their cloak, then recoiling from the burn. Another flame dinged off the motor’s casing and spiraled through the air before striking the waves and puffing out.
Rayva snagged her arm in her teeth and yanked her from the railing, Fyrij squawking and flailing to keep his grip on her forehead fur. Fire stuck in the wood where she had stood, tipped down, and fell, spitting sparks and trailing blazing yellow wisps.
An arrow. Someone was shooting flaming arrows at them?
Dough yelled, his words a roaring echo she did not comprehend. She fixated on the spot the arrow struck, unable to move. Had the Knights of the Finders found them and decided to sink the Loose Ducky to prevent Laken’s Redemption? Then why go after innocents who had nothing to do with them?
Multiple flames rushed at them, snagging her back from frozen shock.
“Anznet emi! Us is!” Vantra threw up a shield, forming it around the Loose Ducky and the smaller boat. A larger missile sped to them, a flaming mass of black and saturated yellow. What caused that look? A spell or a chemical?
Cracks spread from the impact site, but the mass crumbled and plopped into the waves before it punched through the protection. The surrounding water churned an ugly, glowing green as it sank. She threw up layer after layer, uncertain when the outer would break, certain she needed more than a handful.
A horn blared from the ship’s wheelhouse as more arrows tinged from the protections and tumbled away, unable to stick in the magic. Sailors rushed to the deck, and one grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. Others herded the nomads away from the railing as another burning ball splatted against Vantra’s defenses.
“Ship afire!” One of the crew pointed; the fog could not hide the flames spurting into the air from the vessel that had entered the channel before the Loose Ducky. Dough had grumbled something about them butting in line, and gave a rude salute to the smug captain as they sped past. Now the ship paid for that unpleasant behavior.
She winced and slapped her hands over her ears as the communications system screeched to life. The Badeçasyon shipwrights had modified it to be louder, but they had done nothing to fix the quality of the speakers. The Loose Ducky was quite the patchwork of progress.
“The Loose Ducky is under attack! This is not a re-enactment. I repeat, this is not a re-enactment.”
Would other ships hear that? It might be their only warning that flaming trouble targeted them.
“What’s up?”
Vantra squeaked and jumped. Red set a hand on her shoulder and squeezed a silent apology before moving to the railing. The crewman left him to it, turning to more pressing duties. He watched as another ball slammed into her shields, sputtering before peeling away. It flopped into the waves, producing the same ugly green glow.
“Hmm. Interesting.” He ran his hands over his red hair, then folded his fingers behind his neck as he studied the bubbling water. “I think that’s cano oil. You need to infuse specially-treated wood with it, but it will burn hot and long if you do.”
“So this isn’t a random attack?” Vantra asked, dread electrifying her essence as Rayva and Salan planted themselves at his side. She was right. The Knights had found them. What were they going to do?
“No. Cano oil’s too expensive and too volatile for it to be random anything. Whoever’s attacking the boats wants them to burn.” He leaned over and peered through the fog. “I think beings from Captain Speedy’s ship are in the water.”
“We could rescue ‘m, but our landers’re just as like to flame up,” the pirate who tried to herd her from the front said.
Red’s gaze drifted to the guider’s boat; two of the crew had reached the craft and helped the downed being as the other navigated closer to the ship. As with all Merdia vessels, the Loose Ducky came equipped with hoists, pulleys and pullchains to rescue troubled watercraft, their cargo and crew—a necessity, for re-enacting realistic sea battles. “I can protect them. Let’s go. Vantra, keep the shields up until Dough tells you to drop them.”
Dough? She glanced about for him but did not notice him. He must have already made it to the helm. She did not see the nomads, but the ghosts of the mini-Joyful rushed to them.
“Mera, Tally, come with me,” Red said, waving at the two Light acolytes before following the pirate. Katta joined them, while Kjaelle, Vesh and Lorgan swept to her. The vulfs stayed with her, guarding each side. She snagged Fyrij, who did not look happy at Rayva’s jostling, and firmed her expression.
“Go hide with Kenosera.”
He tweeted an angry protest, and she became sterner. Grumbling, he pushed from her fingers and zipped to the door leading downstairs, nearly colliding with a crewman. Stubborn caroling, how was she going to convince him that protecting his little head was more important than his curiosity?
Multiple flames lit the left bank and shot towards them. Lorgan’s shield dome intercepted them; they splattered against it and cascaded down in a chunky mass of embers and fire.
“What is that?” he asked, lifting a lip before he created more defensive layers beneath the original. The magic wavered as if under water; he must be using the river as an energy source for his spells.
“Red said he thought it was cano oil?” Vantra’s helplessness welled. “He said you need specially-treated wood to use it, and that means this attack is on purpose.” She punched down on the useless emotion; now was not the time for despair.
“You’re thinking it’s the Finders?” Lorgan squinted as more missiles headed their way. “This is a physical attack. Finders would lob magic, yes, but not arrows.”
“They do over-emphasize Mental Touch over Ether and Physical,” Kjaelle agreed. Her green eyes darted about before focusing on the burning craft, which blazed as bright as the fire in the statues. “And it looks like the enemy’s attacking every ship along the river, not just us.” The elfine triggered Ether Touch and shot into the air above them. She hovered while she looked behind, her black hair and silver dress wafting around her in wispy curls, then glided back to the deck.
“They’re aiming for everyone on this stretch of the river, aren’t they?” Vesh asked, unsurprised.
“Yes. They’ve lined the river from the last bend we passed to the one in front of us.” She hissed through her teeth. “Too bad we’re not in top form.”
Vesh echoed the sigh, and Vantra firmed her lips, fighting the twinge of fear that clambered over her uncertainty to reach her forethoughts. How could they battle, when they had yet to recover from the incident at Black Temple? Manipulating the energy of the Emblematic Collapse had drained all of them, battling the Knights in the Snake’s Den ruins had set back their recovery, and sailing from Merdia, down the eastern coast of Uka’s Lament, and to the Dryanflow’s mouth, had not given them enough time to recuperate.
The improvements to the Loose Ducky’s speed made certain of that. Despite the stormy weather, they arrived at the river’s mouth in under an yilsemma, a grand accomplishment in trying to reach Selaserat before the Finders, but not so great when considering the days needed for recovery from intense magical strain.
Maybe she should thank the Sun that an unknown entity, rather than the malicious Knights, faced them.
“Vantra, I need your spyglass.” Kjaelle squinted through the fog to the misty shore. “The enemy has to expose themselves to shoot their projectiles.”
“It’s downstairs. I’ll get it.”
