Of Masks and Tombs

I like masks

They comfort

They hide

They hug your face

And when you wear a mask

No one can see

When you smile or frown

No one can see

What your face looks like

No remarks of beauty

No marks of deformed

No they cannot touch you

When you wear the mask

And mask not only

Hide your face

So they cannot know you

They can never know you

But these beautiful masks

These wonderful masks

They make it so

That no one can see

No they will never see

When you cry

So wear the smile

And go about your business

Wear the smile

And don't let them see you slowly decay

Slowly die

and cry

Don't let them in

Don't let them know you

Don't let them see

Man's eyes have always been weakness

Do not let their weakness come to me

Masks are heavy

Masks are warm

They sit upon the ground

All hard as stone

And upon them are carved the words of smiles

And upon them are carved the lines of eyes

And upon them are caved 1990-2025

And beneath them the earth saggs and sighs

And beneath the earth there lies

Sleeping under all that

There where no one can see

There where the mask has hid

There only there

Can we cry

Pieces of Potsherds

I shall not let that sorrow inside

I shall not let the clouds bear fruit

Falling fast towards parched ground

I shall not give this same relief

Unto my aching heart, my grief

I shall not let the dam held shut

Be broken open before the world

Whose eyes of pity, whose eyes of scorn

Whose eyes I despise, I shall not break

I shall not let that held back fall

I shall not break I shall not shed

I shall not show I shall not cry

I shall not cry, no, no, I shall not cry

No mark to mar the mask of smile

I shall not bear my shoulders down

I shall not look forlorn to earth

I shall not look forlorn to heaven

I shall not look forlorn to man

I shall not cry, I shall not cry

But keep this ocean in my soul

Let gale winds rise, let storm seas toss

The floodwaters come, they rush they roar

The dam is breaking, the eyes shimmer

No! Hold firm! Do not let it show!

A deep breath. Eyes burn and they close.

And as the sea dies down inside

Everything falls into the black void

The soul becomes so small

And drifts without sight of end

Through the obsidian nothing

Floundering, slowing, lathargic, dying

No more feelings no more sorrow

No more anger, joy, peace, hope, true

But no more sorrow, no more crying

There can be no broken dam without a dam to break

But times, there are times,

When this floating, floundering soul

Finds itself in a sudden squall of sorrow

And screams to be known

When comes the hour of the blade

Let the tears now be blood

Let all the words that need be written, write

Let the soul return to darkness from this light

The Weighing of the Soul

Come now, iron bracer firm

Cast in adamantine bands

Beat your steel spikes through the holes

Drill through iron into my soul

Come now, chain of lead

Child of serpent and steel

Forged in anguish, cooled with tears

Yet burning red always as you sway

Embers in your searing wake

Come now, O Weight of My Soul

Let me kiss the too fimiliar burden

Lay upon my back the whip, the iron, the sack

Upon my shoulders, yoke me to the millwheel

That al my days I should stumble blind

In circles grinding the stones together

Yet never a step closer or farther

Come now, sweetest blade

Shall I fall upon thy cool call

Come now speedy end

As all the pillars come down

Come

The First Frost

Sorry, but this is what comes out at 5:30 in the morning. Maybe I'll come back and edit it. Maybe not. Maybe I'll write a sequal entitled "The First Snow" or maybe not, Eh. I'm gonna go sleep now. :P

When Evening Shade has dropped her cowl

Across the face of the vaults of Heaven

Star studded obsidian veil

Shimmering in the late fall night

Then rise the Moon, the glorious Queen

Her fullness round and beaming brightly

Raise her head through Darkness cowl

Laughing moonbeams upon the sleeping Earth

A whisper wafts upon the willow leaves

Curls about the ivy, rustle the rue

Upon the air currents runs a laughter

A puckish voice within the green

Then from the Emerald Deeps come lanterns

Dim stars shining upon the earth

Their lights caught deep within the mushrooms

Paraded forth by the little folk

Lines and lines of the wee running ones

Their torches held like flicker flames

A sea of candles upon the forest floor

No word is spoken, these are not summer games

They have all come now, to the old oak

Its viridian foliage gilt with gold

The gnarlled and twisted white bark

Creaks in reply to the anxious faces

When suddenly the wind whispers near

Kicks the leafy carpet of brown

A laugh is upon the breath of heaven

The wee folk draw nearer the base of the oak

And stepping out of the deepest darkness

The night itself about his shoulders hung

With skin as white as the Moon his mother,

Stepped the Prince of Ice, her son

Where ever his booted foot took step

A frost cracked as it spread on the ground

The air grew still and turned all to silver

As beating breaths came out like smoke

"I have come to thee, oh Forest Lord,

To claim what is mine by right of law

The seasons bid you hand now over

All your power to Winter's maw."

The ancient oak, its blackened seams

Creaked in reply a breathy voice

That rose from the hollow of its base

Like a silent whisper of the woods themselves

"Prince of Ice, your claim is heard

But here today you shall not prevail.

Your claim must first be prove'd still

Before these ones work to your avail."

So the Prince of Ice in furor rose

And walked the glen towards the King

But ere he passed within harming's reach

He stepped within the mushroom ring

"Come no further, you shall dare not.

The ground you step upon is mine alone

If you wish to make your claim tonight

You must first mark all you would make your own."

So retreated he from the Oaken Glade

And took upon the wings of night

And looked he far for the wandering shade

Who took many forms by the moonlight

Robin Goodfellow called was he

At least by some in some forms he would take

Puck, Trickster, Thief, Green Boy

When the moon was full none could place him

But the Prince of Ice knew he plan now lay

Upon the shoulders of the impish lad

For there was one form that Puck could take

So that all the lands by the Prince could be had

So flying high and flying low,

Across the sea and land

Searching forest, mountains, glades, fields

The hidden depths and foreign strands

But nowhere could he spot the imp

And so with feverish dispair

He cried unto his mother the moon,

"Mother! I can't find him anywhere!"

The guiding moon her soft radiant glow

Smiled down upon her child

And her lights gathered upon the forest

A place most savage and most wild

And there within the darkened bough

Beneath the willow curtain

Lay that impish boy called Puck asleep

On a bed of chamomile and lavender

"Puck! Robin! Whatever your name be!

Halt and I would have words with thee!"

"Nay, but sir I must away from here

For daylight soon shall appear,"

"Noble Puck, please hear my plea

If thou help me, I shall reward thee."

"....."

"What kind of reward?"

"Anything, anything thou desire,

Name it but, and it shall be thine.

But please, take form tonight as me

And help claim all the world as mine."

The imp though quick upon the task

And then with boyish giggling laugh

He declared he would for the proffered prize

And so set he about to make his disguise

He wove about him the same cold skin

The gleam of ice upon his brow

He took upon the same blue weeds

And silver set was his crown

Then with a merry giggle he flew

Across the ponds and woods and glades

And where he went he blew and blew

Upon forest and sea, nymph and neraid

And where his cool kiss did come

A sheath as cold as death itself

Hard as adamant, pure as pearl

And sharp as the diamond's point

The crystal dust he blew and threw

And painted upon each blade of grass

He rushed it along the river path

Enjoying his silvery task

Then came he upon dryad glade

And melting into the black guise

Crept and fell over their frames as a shade

And blew sweetly upon them the ice

Dancing upon river, writing upon glass

Dusting the world with his diamonds

He circled the land and returned again

And was hailed by the Prince of Ice

"Well done sweet Puck, they work is grand

Thou has taken my visage and done to the accord

And covered every inch of the land

Now, good imp, name thy reward."

"You Prince, you say, you are put a Prince

And carry not yet the title of King.

So how is it that you shall gain authority

To rule over everything?"

The imps question was met with reply

Both short and to the point

"I shall marry the Princess of Snow,

Then shall all my power know."

"Then my mind is made, I know what I want

To meet this Princess of Snow."

"Then follow me, thou sly sprite

And away to her castle, we shall go!"

Her castle stood on the farthest shore

Where monuments of ice stood firm

And mountains moved in waters cold

White as snow was all around

The two walked into the High Gate

And up the stairs to the throneroom

They passed into the presence of her

Whom all knew as Lady Winter

"Who comes here now at this hour?

The world seems colder to my taste.

Who threatens the serenity of my bower?

Speak now, both of you make haste!"

"I come imploring your hand princess,

For now having seen your face.

I would rather die here upon the ice

Than away from thee take a single pace."

"What now, what foolishness is this Robin?"

Cried the shocked and outraged Prince

"You are nothing but a rude forest imp

This treachery comes, from wence?"

"My name is not Robin (at least today)

And I have come a very long way,

To tell you, my name is Jack Frost

And I would have thy heart at any cost."

The Lady of Winter looked through her white veil,

Eyes glowed silver with the dancing light

Then stepping forth brought out her hand, pale

And using only a fraction of her might

She pushed both out of her court's door

And they flew from there to the snow cold

And skidded across the icy floor

Till they came to rest in the land of old

Where now all things were covered in Frost

And the Prince drew back in his cloak of night

And Jack Frost stood up, having never lost

Against man or beast or troll a fight

But then the words of the Winter Queen

Echoed through the clearing where they stood

"Foolish you have both now been,

I seek the one who my heart understood."

So they both departed in sorrow and despair,

But as they drew to leave

The Lady of Winter spoke again

So that they would not have reason to grieve

"I depart these lands, but only for a time

Till then you both shall stand

And cover all the world with what is mine

Till Winter has covered the land.

And I shall return to you once more

Once the first snow flake come down

And then whom ever has spread the most, for

him shall I share my crown."

Then the two were off night and day,

Jack Frost and the Prince of Ice

And they worked tirelessly covering the world

And uncovering each other's work in turn

So that is why the first frost came

And that is why it has come ever since

For to this day Jack Frost and the Prince

Still try to win the heart of the Lady Winter

Tales from the MAX

People on the MAX always look tired. Tired in the morning when the train pulls up on its sleek steel sliding rails. Tired from their long nights. Tired in the evening when only the sound of steel tracks and the lights illuminating tunnels of raindrops tease the weary senses. Tired from their long days. They need something to wake them up.

Here, let us give them a siren.

As the loud call grows closer and closer, the effects of the siren awakens the sleepers. Is it ambulance? Is it policecar? Is it firetruck? It is the sound of disaster growing closer in its circular call going round and round with the flashing lights.

The old man shakes his head, somewhat slowly, then reaches for his iPhone– that's right, go ahead and drown your thoughts in music. The woman across from him reading The Economist furrows her brow, a quick glance up– eyes back and deeper furrow– try to concentrate. The teen guy, baseball cap askew– go ahead and guess at his ethnicity– looks down, thin fingers meant for the piano or violin turning the large diamond stud in his ear.

The next clump of people. A man with a thick neck, tells his story of being dishonorably discharged- telling how unfair it was- telling how he has no idea where it came from. Then he stops. Stops midsentence. Has to comment looking towards the sirens' directions "mother-rapers". Well he definitely gets points for creativity. Though I think the correct declination would be mother-rapists. But this comment doesn't seem to sit well with the middle aged immegrant–don't ask I how I know she is middle aged or immigrant– places her hand on her cheek and shakes her head. Which just looks odd, fabricated, artificial.

But the people begin to fade again. The small flame we began has died down to an ember. A dying ember. Shall we wake them up? Shall we colour their grey monotonous in technicolour?

Here– let the three come in through the sliding, beeping door, into this dreary, wearisome scene. Go ahead, start telling the other two your story about trying to find a deadbeat job in this kind of bad economy, of fighting off those idiots that grabbed at your girl at the bar–your girl!– and how hard it is to save money so that you can go to junior college next year, all because of your no-good thief of a mother who steels the money from that old pickle jar to buy cocaine. Go ahead and tell about how your lil' sister's car seat wasn't fastened all the way by that same crackhead mom, how they went for a drive that afternoon, how the car went flying over the side of the cliff by the dairy queen, how no amount of make up can hide the way her fat face is scarred.

But you're not the only one who has some entertainment for these weary travelers. Go ahead, yes you, tell the other two about your girlfriend's mom. About how she's an even crazier bee-otch. How you'll let your girlfriend go out on the town on her own, but not with her mom. Because she's so desperate she'll try to sell your girlfriend off like a "ho". How once she even tried to sell her off to a nigger. Thats right, go ahead, use the n-word. Upset the nice African American gentleman that's staring such daggers at you now.

Yes, it may be better for you to get off now, you don't seem to be making too many friends here. Maybe people enjoy their weariness. Maybe they need their tiredness. Why? Who knows... maybe if we simply watch for a while, no interference. No sirens or disruptive interruptions. Let them simmer in the grinding down of their live's through the rough hands of the clock running around its silver rim. We will sit. We will watch. We will reserve judgement. For now. We will be silent.

Today Is A Practice Wearing the Colour Red

Today is a practice wearing red

I place red shoes upon my feet

I pull red shirt over my heart

I tug red ring around my middle finger

I even wear red underwear too

Because today is a day for practice

Today is a practice in red

And if what I have read on the subject of red

Has led me to bed understanding whats said

By the colour red I mark my every breath

Keep time, time time

Red time keep up

Keep strong

Red Strong

Red goes on

Today I will practice wearing this red

This hat, this face, these fingers are red

This nose, those eyes, these beatings are red

This heart, this mind, these motives are read

Snow known by nothing other else in the world

Than Birds who bask upon its dewy down

Red needs practice

It leaps in the eye

It flares nostrels

Breaks jaws

Looses hearts

and loses them too

Passion

Crimson

Scarlet

Fever

Desire

Energy

All of these and more, oh red,

All of these are wrapped in your fillements

They wind around your center

Like the slow turning of the planets

That I should take the galaxy of red on my shoulders

Heft it high and strong upon my back

Would it break these bones in futile anguish?

Should attempts be made when no gain could come?

There is a gain which is not immediate

There is a gain which is not tangable

There is a gain that is not a gain and never will be again

Red spinning stars around me

I take them all upon me and feel their burn

Cool and flicker, they lick me red up and down

They coat me in their red until I am red as they are

I look down and see in a world of grey and black

Red. Fire engine red. It sits heavy on my coat

and seeps out into the surrounding pages

It leaves a red trail, a watermark, a bloodmark

where I have trod.

So that today

As I take this red upon me

and practice it

Today I embrace

Embrace the redness

Redness of the soul

Redness of the human being

I embrace all of these

I do not claim my body

I do not claim my soul

I do not claim my footsteps

Or the echoes of my fingers

But I drape red over all of them

Like the bodies in a morgue

I lay them to rest neath the vale of red

That they may be in peace now.

I pull the same red veil over my face

It is the final curtain of the act

Today is a practice in red

A practice in wearing the red.

Today is a practice in wearing the colour red.

For the Hatred of Mirrors

Parts and bits of mirror shard,

Stick up, stand straight from the rough wood floor.

Pieces of mirror, glass now shattered,

Lying all upon my closet door.

Lying dead upon my closet door.

A hundred eyes look back on me,

A hundred faces, none the same.

A hundred different forms taken,

Taken upon a breaking frame.

Asking, begging for so much more.

Masks set firm on wall peg places,

Mounted in cement and tears.

Steel girders gird the secret bower,

Locks and chains made of memory and fears.

A central piece from crimson tore.

Pull the veil once more across,

Hide the Holiest away for now,

Tear not at this gentle steel curtain

Pierce not past this faceless brow

Let lie the sleeping, vampyric core

Bits and parts of shattered facemask

Sticking up from the mirror’s floor

Chipped ceramic faces falling

Falling, breaking upon my iron door

Breaking, shattering–– no more.

Happy Sunshine Poem

Happy Sunshine-y Poem

Sunshine

Sunnyshine

Happy Sunny Sunnyshine

Trees–– happy, pretty trees

Puppies–– happy, cutesy puppies

Kitty–– fluffy happy kitty

Butterfies, butterflies, unicorns, ponies

Butterflies, butterflies, twinkle little stars

Sugar rainbows, happy elves

Christmastime, all year round

Magic ponies (did I mention the ponies?)

Hot chcolate, chocolcate milk, cookies and milk

Pretty much any milk and chocolate combination

Wishing wells and enchanted spells

Raindrops on kittens and whiskers on roses

A biiiiiiiiIIIIiiiiiiig smile

Good night kisses

Tucked into bed

Now its time

To lay down your

Happy

Sunshiny

Sunny

bright

glad

cheery

smiling

head.

Emily, My Emily

So I wrote this for my writing class... yeah I know its really dark. This may in fact be the darkest thing I've ever written.... *shudders* Just a fair warning, not for the faint of hearted to read. In fact, don't read it at all. You'll regret it. Go read another of my works instead. In fact, I'll post a happy sunshine poem after this, so go read that instead!

* * *

Emily, My Emily

The holy father had assured us that the farm would be safe now, but Amelia still had her doubts after what she had seen. It was a spacious property tucked away in eastern Oregon, serrounded by low hills covered with long golden grass, a piece of the prarie that had survived the harsh desert. On either side the closest neighbors were 27 and 32 miles away respectfully. Isolation was what had allowed it to happen. It was why no one had noticed. Why it kept happening over and over and over again. And why Amelia knew it would keep happening. No matter what some excercist may say.

But I had other ideas. Having grown up in the city all my life, but with a real country heart, I couldn’t wait to get out on the little patch of prarie and begin building on my claim like the pioneers of old. As soon as we moved in I repainted the house and the barn, made sure the three cows that came with the house were up to date on their shots, and began planting the corn.

That was my second mistake, according to Amelia. She said that they had planted corn too and if we did then it would all start again. So I gently reminded her that part of the reason we had moved out here was also for her degenerating health. That she was sick. Very sick. And that right now she should just focus on getting better.

“But Harry, I’m scared! I know! I know its going to happen!” she mumbled through persed lips.

“Scared of what?” I inquired, trying to be gentle with her frail mind but she refused to talk, pressing her lips together as if she would swallow them before revealing what she knew.

Amelia had grown up in this part of the country. She knew all about it. Every stream, every blade of yellowed grass was intimate with her. She could lie on her back in a field at night and find all the stars and tell you their names and life stories and where they would hide. I think thats why I first fell in love with her. She was the living embodiment of my beloved country-life.

But as much as she loved to tell me about the country she did not one to tell me one thing. What had happened on the farm, and to its previous owners. All she insisted was that I call a priest before she would even set foot in the house. I obliged, partly out of genuin concern for her, partly out of my own curiosity to see if the priest would know anything, but mostly because I really wanted to house. It was my dream house after all.

Once we moved in she was apprehensive. Apprehensive about everything. She creeped through the house, stepped gingerly on the floor, faintly traced the walls, as if afraid to make too much contact with any part of the house at once. At night, she shivered, even when it was warm. We had to sleep with a light on for her.

But as the years passed we grew accostomed to the house. Or maybe I just grew used to the way she acted around it. She had gotten paler, thinner, with a gaunt look about her eyes. It was soon after the birth of our daughter, Emily. When Amelia decided to become the assistant teacher at Emily’s preschool I was glad, I won’t lie. Having her mope about the farm was tiresome. In the spring I hired a few hands to help me plant corn and hopefully they’d be back in the fall around harvest time. It was intresting thought, I had put the add out and literally the next day they were there. I didn’t know it worked that fast, but that must just be country folk’s good neighborlyness.

When the corn was high and harvest time was near, I cut the corn into a maze. It was bizaar. The hired hands showed up, hopping out of the old black pickup, and said they had come early to cut the maze. Said it was a tradition. I wasn’t sure what to say. But the next night, I had the most vivid dream and woke up with the perfect idea for the maze. A maze that would be impossible to see the exit out of when you were inside, unless you had a map.

They looked at my plans and smiled. I can’t describe the smile because I can’t really describe their faces. They all seemed similar in a way. Come to think of it, everything about them seems really hazy... and out of focus.... no matter how hard I try to remember... but anyway...

The maze was cut. The pumpkins were ready. Our cat we brought along had a litter of kittens. It was most definitly time for the Pumpkin patch to be opened. Couples came with their children. Teenagers came with their boy friends and girlfriends to kiss in the maze. Fall was in the air and everyone was celebrating it. It was Halloween, when we decided to invite the preschool to the pumpkin patch.

They arrived in the afternoon and fell upon the various activies we had planned for them. They carved pumpkins. Had pumkin seed spitting contests. They drew pictures. They played tag in the patch. But we had told them, no one was to go into the maze. They were too young. The last thing we needed was a crying lost child.

But my Emily didn’t listen. She went into the maze. The maze! And it was an hour before we realized she was gone. Amelia was frantic. The teacher hearded the rest of the children aboard the school bus and they left. We searched and searched but could not find her anywhere. My wife was sobbing, cluthing my arm viselike repeating the words, its happening again, its happening again.

Finally in a half crazed mode, I ran for the cutter, and jumped in. My wife grabbed my arm and screamed to me.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cutting my way through to find Emily!”

I started the motor and careened towards the field. I passed over acre and acre hitting rocks and stray pumkins as I went, but she was nowhere to be found. I kept screaming over the tops of my lungs, calling her name but she was no where to be found. As I made a turn around the corner, I hit another pumkin that squelched and cracked as I ran over it in the cutter, tears stinging my eyes as I kept looking for my little girl. My wife ran to me, jumped up on the cutter and started hitting me, screaming hysterically. I grabbed her wrists but couldn’t hear what she was saying. I turned the cutter off.

She was hysterical, screaming, and had red splatter marks on her face and dress. As I went to her, to see if she was okay, she tried running, but again I grabbed both of those delicate and frail wrists and yanked her towards me, forcing her to look me in the eyes. Her eyes were wild and red and tears gushed down her cheeks and she continued to cry, thin lips pressed together in agony.

“What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?” I asked but she just shook her head in response, more tears rising.

“Then what? Whats wrong?” I asked, daring her to say what I dreaded most, shaking her violently as I yelled it again, “What is wrong!”

She simply whimpered and pointed a shaking finger towards the cutter. Its blades gleamed red in the harvest moonlight and dangling from one of the sharp scyths was a tuff of blond Emily shaded hair, matted with the redness, and one of her tiny pink gloves she had been wearing. But it didn’t make sense.

Why would Emily have left her glove there? And why a lock of her hair? What strange child was this who could disappear like an elf and then leave such strange clues to her wereabouts. I did not know why but suddenly my eyes began to tear. Why was I crying? What was wrong with me? I couldn’t think. My brain was roaring.

Then I saw her, there, running between the cut stalks of corn, jumping over them in her pink gloshes, flashing her grin and letting her blond curls catch in the wind. Which I thought was odd too because there was no wind. My little girl. But why was she running from me? Why did so go towards the old black pickup at the other end of the field? The same one the hired hands had come out of. No, don’t go with them, my girl. They will be doing hard work. You wouldn’t want to do that.

“Come back over here right now, young lady. Emily, I mean it. Come on Emily, I’m not going to say it again.” I notice my wife backing away towards the house... did think that or say it aloud.... I can’t seem to be able to tell the difference.

“Emily! Emily! Where are you going Emily!?” I called after her, laughing... why was I laughing?

Next think I know you were here officer, asking me all about the house and my wife and Emily. I told you. I know where Emily is. Nothing bad happened to her. No that must be someone else’ daughter. No, my Emily’s hair isn’t red like that. No that can’t be her blood cause her blood is inside of her right now. She’s with them. No. She’s here. With us. And the three men who all look the same are all here too. Can’t you see them officer? Can’t you understand? The priest said nothing bad would happen any more! The pries said! The priest said!!! Emily! Emily! Amelia! Emalelia! My bow –– to atoms blown!”

Soiled Veil

Short paragraph long story I had to write for class:

She clutched his last letter tightly to her tear-stained bossom, parchment crackling on bloodstained bodice. She looked down at the far-crashing waves bathed in naked moonlight. The plummet was cold, the plunge was a shock of temperature and fluid and motion. The dark maw of the depths enclosed first the veiled head, before the cold claimed its sordid white prize.

Prisoner of Water: Chapter 16

The Drunken Queen slid through the mist over the calm stretch of water towards the stone pier that came out from the small island that the Catanya Tower stood on. The high tower was surrounded by a stone wall, with soldiers wearing brilliant blue sashes patrolling the top. The Captain spat and gave a curse as he saw the group waiting at wooden dock that extended from the stone pier.

A tall man with dark olive skin and dark blue thick, wooly hair stood surrounded by a company of the soldiers with the sashes who all carried long spears and oval shields. Another man with similarly blue hair stood next to him, a large tome in one hand, stylus in the other hand as he made marks on the page.

“The Dockmaster.” a nearby crewman whispered with dread.

“Shut yer mouth! Or I’ll shut it for ye!” the Captain called, “We don’t have anything to report to him and there’s nothing on board that he can claim against us. Lets just get this over with.”

No one noticed that we slipped to the side of the cargo as Josten whispered, “Alright, do we have everything packed on the eland?”

We rounded the corer and Anai answered, “Yes. Everything except your... winings.”

Josten shrugged and slung his heavy bag of loot from the maja game over his shoulder. “I’ll carry it then.”

Anai just shook her head but did not say anything.

“So the plan is simple. I told the Captain that once we land we will take a day or two to go see the sites around Catamhar, and then we’ll return in a day or so to go back to the Nyaakni Valley with them. But what he doesn't know is as soon as we can, we are going straight to the Catamharian Guard and telling them about the slavers.” Josten said, making sure everyone was onboard with the plan.

“I don’t see why we don’t just run now.” Anai spoke, looking towards the pier and the tower, “I don’t want to be on this ship any longer than we have to be.”

“Well, we could but it would be risky and not all of us might make it away. We have to convince them that we’re coming back so that they’ll let us go without suspicion.” Josten said resolutely.

Agreed we all walked back on deck and slipped into the mass of deck hands who were all watching the approach of the small boat with the officials on it. The guards were rowing, but kept their spears ready in the boat. Two other boats were accompanying the one, while several large catapults on the tower wall turned slowly, facing the boat. The tension that suddenly crackled in the air was unmistakable.

~~*~~

Shekmet’s men were in fast pursuit of the fugitives and were making headway. He had stopped as soon as he realized that they would catch up to the two for sure. He welcomed the shade and slight drizzle that the great cloud bank overhead brought, as it covered the entire white landscape with a mass of churning grey and black. A liminal smile almost touched his blistered lips, but then he heard his snow hawk give a perticular call from above, doing two loops in the raining air before flying towards the edge of the cliffs and then back to his shoulder.

“What?! No!” Shekmet’s eyes grew wide as he gave a loud series of whistles, and with a hefty throw of his arm, sent his hawk sailing towards the other Tracers.

The hawk winged in front of the group running across the salt plains, just as they were a stone’s throw away from Ismes carrying the dark bundle on his back, who was likewise a stone’s throw from the gate posts of the Djariviera bridge. But as the hawk flew over them, the Tracers suddenly changed course, running towards the nearby cliffs.

Ismes heard them change direction, and felt a sudden wave of relief sweep through him. He had been sure that the Tracers were about to catch him, as he had heard their breathing behind him. But as he realized that they had changed directions so suddenly, he felt fear crawl into the pit of his stomach. He slowed and looked back, just in time to see it.

From behind the farthest row of dunes on the otherside of the salt flat, through the heavy rain that had started falling, he saw the massive wall of water suddenly crest the dunes. The flash flood was a dull dirty grey mass moving along the salt flat, sweeping everything in its path away. And it was coming straight for Ismes.

As Ismes began sprinting with renewed vigor for the bridge, Shekmet made it to the lip of the canyon and leapt with all his might. Midair he withdrew his dagger and stabbed it into a cleft in the sandstone layers of the canyon, securing his position. He stood almost horizontally on the wall, watching as the wave washed over the dunelands.

Meanwhile, his men who made it to the farther edge of the canyon launched themselves off the edge into the water, while those not close enough withdrew their long, menacing dirks and stuck them with heavy force into the cracked surface of the ground, bracing themselves for the impact of the water.

Ismes ran with the water at his heels, coming to the bridge and quickly running across the numerous slats of wood. The bridge had a wooden crane like structure and as he was half way across, ropes running through the pulleys began moving quickly, and the bridge gave a low creak before it began to rise slowly. Ismes just managed to sling Manera around before he fell on his back and slide down the remaining slats, onto the ground. His arms, back, eyes, throat, everything ached. But he had done it. They were safe. They had made it to Djariviera, and escaped the Tracers. That was the last thought Ismes had before darkness swept over his vision.

Shekmet watched the bridge raise and knew that what could have been a simple mission would now become infinitely harder. Within the city of Djariviera they would be impossible to find. However, he still had his two men he had sent ahead just in case. There was still a chance of finishing up the mission before things got too far out of hand.

~~*~~

“Captain Shango.” the Deckmaster spoke, his nose high in the air.

“Yer Honor. So please to see ye again.” the Captain nearly spat the sarcastic words out as he held out his hand.

“I trust you won’t mind an inspection before you and your crew are permitted to come ashore.” the Deckmaster said, ignoring the proffered hand.

“Oh aye, you’ll find that we have nothing to hide.” the Captain said, brows furrowing with rage. “Just like last time when ye were so... careful to search every nook an cranny.”

“Well, we’ll see about not having anything to hide. You will remain here while we conduct the inspection.” the Deckmaster said, motioning towards the guards to remain and watch the crew, “And I’ll try my best to be as... careful as ever.”

As the Deckmaster was turning to go, with the note taker behind him, he suddenly saw our little group, “Ah! And what have we here? New recruits?”

“Onodje Ebthaga.” Anai said bowing.

The Deckmaster looked surprised before responding, “Wahye.”

“Your Honor, we are travelers from the Djarmond mountains. We purchased passage on the ship to reach Catamhar.” Josten said, extending his hand.

“Well, then, welcome to Catamhar.” the Deckmaster said, taking Josten’s arm, “Your party may go ashore.”

“What?!” The Captain objected.

“Your crew will remain on deck until our inspection is complete. Is that understood, Captain Shango?” the Deckmaster said cooly.

“Aye, sir.” The Captain said, before turning to us, “We’ll catch up with ye later. Just wait for us at the inn on the docks. We’ll sort all this nonsense out real quick like.”

“Actually, I have been meaning to send a scout to Djarmond, but if you would be so kind as to enlighten me on current happenings in the mountains, I would be delighted to host you at the Customs House tonight.” the Dockmaster said, a hint of a smile peaking at the corners of his mouth at being able to foil the Captain’s plans.

“That would be wonderful.” Anai said, bowing again.

“Splendid. I will join you as soon as I am finished with my inspection.” the Dockmaster replied before we followed one of the guards to a waiting boat, leading the eland onto it.

“Don’t yew lot worry. We’ll see each other again real soon. I’m sure of it.” Captain Shango’s parting words sounded more like a threat than anything else.

~~*~~

Kiza's eyes fluttered open, her head feeling heavy and pulsating with each pump of blood. Every single one of her joints trembled and ached, as she tried to raise her shaking hand to cover the light that was coming in through the cracks between the bamboo shutters over the doorway into the dark, stiffeling room. She sat up, and immediately regretted it as the sick, heavy feeling in her stomach dropped. She tried to remember what happened. How she got where she was.

Wrapping the blanket closer around her head to help with the pounding headache, she crawled over and peaked through the blinding shutters at the outside world. There were two men, dressed in black robes, with black turbans covering their heads. She recognized them. Tracers. They quickly slid to the side, vanishing for a second from guarding her door. The thought of running then entered her mind, but she quickly dismissed it.

Only a few moments later she saw the two reappear, this time following a third man, who must also have been a Tracer. She couldn’t tell because all three were dressed as normal villagers. Possibly to fool her into trusting them, since they thought she was still asleep. She crawled back into the bed, and just as she closed her eyes, the bamboo shutter door opened and in they walked.

“She is still sleeping. But won’t be for long. I will give her some more of the flower extract so she will not wake up.” the third man who had appeared spoke.

He approached her, holding a small vial, dabbing a cloth on it. As he held the cloth over her, she responded. Though her head was pounding and her joints ached, adreniline pumped through her veins as she jumped up, smashing the first Tracer into a wall, before rolling across the floor and kicking the second Tracer’s legs out from underneath her. She delivered a hard elbow to the first one, knocking him out completely, before advancing towards the second, who quickly slid into the shadows. But Kiza just stood her ground. Having lived in a palace with Zuma came with its advantages. She had eyes on the back of her head. The slightest tingle on her spine and she spun around, punching the second Tracer who had appeared behind her in the face so hard she flew into the side wall.

Kiza suddenly felt the nausea rise up, and clutched her stomach. Her skin felt much too moist for such a short ordeal. Placing her hand on her head, she felt the pounding return, reverberating in her ears, draining the strength from her bones. It was at this moment, that the old hand of the third man, bony and leathery, wrapped around her head with the damp cloth. The second the poppyoil touched her lips, her world went numb and black again.

Prisoner of Water: Chapter 15

“Haha! I win again!” Josten yelled, pumping the air with his fist.

The crew’s jovial mood had left them as Josten had proceeded to win almost every round of the game with the coloured pebbles. At first it had been entertaining to watch him try figure out the game, and they had playfully begun placing bets. Now, after his twelfth straight win, Josten had acquired almost every one of their purses, belts, earrings, and necklaces.

“Um, Josten, could I have a word with you real quick?” Anai asked pulling him aside.

“Alright. Set up for the next round boys! I’m sure this time you’ll get lucky!” he called before she had taken him around the side of the large pile of cargo in the center of the ship.

“Josten! Haven’t you noticed that the crew is getting less and less friendly with each game you win? I’m telling you, I’m getting uneasy about these... traders.” Anai said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “I think they may be river bandits, or even pirates!”

“It’s okay, I’m planning on giving most of everything back after this last round. But with the little bit of money I keep we can stock up on supplies, and maybe even hire a descent boat to go back home once we’er done in Catamhar.” Josten said, turning to go, before calling back, “Oh, have you seen Tsinya?”

“No, wasn’t he with you?” Anai asked, before hearing the frantic pawing of the eland along with commotion further along the large deck. “Oh no, not that overgrown goat again! It’s probably trying to eat one of the sails again. Anyway, I’m sure Palo is fine. Just make sure that this is really the last game!”

~~*~~

Ismes and Manera had been running all day long through the dunelands. The sun burned brightly overhead, the ground felt on fire beneath their feet. As they sprinted with all their might, Manera felt her chest aching and tightening, the burning in her lungs getting worse. But she had to keep up with Ismes, who was running virtually blind next to the cliffs. By holding his hand, she pulled him back each time his course began bending towards the cliffs. He could also feel her grip tightening, as she struggled to fight her burning lungs. He knew it was getting harder and harder for her to breathe and wished he could stop for her to catch her breath. But the Tracers could be upon them any second, and she needed the medicine. So they kept running, as fast as they could. Ismes knew that if the Tracers thought that she kidnapped the princess then they would not stop to ask questions. If they were captured they would be knocked out and dragged back to face the Royal Inquisitors. The very thought of them gave speed to Ismes’ legs. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he tried to figure out who Manera reminded him of. It was on the tip of his tongue, he just could not place her. She was like a chameleon, changing constantly, slipping out of his mind’s reach.

~~*~~

I had wandered down below deck, hoping that it would be less turbulent down there, but soon found that the rocking of the flat bottomed ship on the river felt even worse in the cabins. As I was looking for a way up towards the deck, I stumbled upon a large door, with a massive iron key hanging from a peg next to it. Being a recorder, I had a natural curiosity, and so I took down the key and placed it in the door, hearing the iron slide into the keyhole and fall into place. I looked around, waiting to see if anyone had heard the loud noise. But no one came. I pushed against the rough, discoloured wood of the door, as it opened inward on a dark room. Instantly, a putrid, rotten and sour smell assaulted my nose. I squinted but could not see into the inky darkness. I pulled a candle from my robes and lit the wick on a torch in the hallway. Walking back into the darkness, I was not prepared for what I found. My candle dropped from my shaking hands, and the light went out leaving me in the dark.

~~*~~

Anai had managed to wrestle the eland away from the sails it had nibbled at again, and tied it securely to one of the rails. As she was doing it, a large dark shadow fell over her from behind. She turned and gave a small cry of surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean ta startle ye.” Captain Shango said.

“Oh, no. It’s fine.” Anai said, giving the rope one last pull, “I’m sorry about our eland. It’s like it is all one big stomach on four legs.”

“Ah, it’s no trouble. A mighty mountain beast such as itself don’t know no better.” Captain Shango said, patting the eland’s soft red fur, “I suppose once yer done with yer vacation in Catamhar, you’ll be heading back south to the mountains?”

“Yes. We don’t plan to stay long.” Anai tried to be as vague as possible.

“Pity that your vacation should be cut so short.” the Captain spoke, looking out toward the rushing river.

“Yes, well, as my friend Josten realized, traveling in winter might be faster but its also much colder.” Anai said, pulling the mantle around her for good measure. “We’ll head back and come back in spring, before the summer rush.”

“Aye, thats a much better idea. Well, if yer heading back, we could most assuredly give ye passage back up to the mountains. Maybe the traders will be done by then with their feasts.” The Captain spoke, nonchalantly leaning on the rail which was too short for him to do comfortably.

“Well, thats very generous of you Captain but we don’t have anything to trade...” Anai began.

“I win again!” Josten called triumphantly. “Alright, one more round! This time I’m feeling unlucky, so you’e bound to win!”

“Well, it would allow my crew to earn back all of yer friend there’s winnings. I’ve never seen anyone take so naturally to Maja.” The Captain said, standing up again, shaking his head.

“Could you excuse me for one second.” Anai said walking towards the Maja players, “Josten! I thought we agreed that was the last game!”

“Um, Anai, could I talk to you for a second.” I said, having just come up from below deck.

“Well, I meant that this next game was going to be the next one. Promise, this is it.” Josten said, “Masksmith’s honor.”

I tugged urgently on both of their sleeves, “Anai, Josten. I really need to talk-”

“Josten! Think about what I told you! This is not a good idea!”

“Guys, I found something-”

“And what’s that?” asked the Captain walking up behind our small group of squabblers.

“Um.” I floundered, as everyone suddenly grew silent to listen. “Well, I, um...”

“Catanya Tower sighted!” the lookout called, much to my relief.

Everyone rushed to the edge of the ship, where we could see the flat expanse of rapidless water, the glass of Catanya, with the massive structure rising up in the mist of the river ahead. It was a conical tower, painted brilliant white with bright red, blue, green, and yellow geometric shapes running in patterns on it. It was covered with openings higher up, through which messenger birds were constantly flying, but which could also act as the perfect place from which archers could take aim.

“That ther is the Catanya Tower. We’ll reach it by midday.” the Captain said, “When we do, we’ll be at the port of Catamhar.”

“Anai! Josten!” I said pulling them aside and out of earshot, “We need to get off this ship, and fast!”

“I know, that’s what I keep telling Josten!” Anai said, giving him a fierce look. “I think they might be bandits, or even pirates.”

“No, you don’t understand. I found something down below deck!” I said, trying to steady myself as I spoke the words, “They’re not bandits or pirates.”

“Then what are they?” asked Josten.

“Slavers.”

~~*~~

Shekmet was impressed by the speed the two fugitives had been making. Further down the river, it would become too crowded by trading boats for the Tracers to pursue on salamander back with any speed, so they were following the two through the dunelands on foot. The footprints they followed told the story for them. The two were running along the cliff edge, the one leading seemed to be almost blind, as he was continually pulled back from the edge by the other, who was almost being dragged along, possibly because he was wounded, though there were no traces of blood. At the current pace, Shekmet and his Tracers would catch them right when they made it to the bridge of Djariviera. But that would be tricky with the local guards of Djariviera, who did not answer to the Lower Chief of Belotha, but the High Chief of Lagdjar. It was now a game of luck. Would the Tracers catch up with the two fugitives before they reached the bridge, or would they reach the bridge before them, slipping into the crowded town where their trail would almost definitely be lost. Shekmet increased his pace, his Tracers following suit.

~~*~~

“Come on Manera! We’re almost there!” Ismes yelled, squinting in the distance.

They had come out of the dunes and were jogging across the vast salt flat between the dunelands and Djariviera. At the end of the massive, sweltering white space, stood the two tall posts, which marked the gateway to Djariviera.

Manera was coughing, her own vision beginning to swim from the heat all around, and the fever which threatened to burn her up from the inside. She stumbled and fell to the ground, clutching her stomach as the coughing started getting worse, sharp pains stabbing through her chest and stomach. The coughing just continued and would not stop until she threw up the small amount of dried jerky she had eaten that morning.

“Manera!” Ismes said, turning and running to her, throwing her arm around his shoulder.

“I-I’m fine. I just... need... a moment. To catch my breath.” Manera said coughing more.

“It’s just ahead. We just have to go a little further. Come on! You can make it!” Ismes said adjusting to her weight on his shoulder as they set off.

His heart was pounding. Ahead he could see the posts of the town. He had friends there who could hide them and help them, if he could just get there. Manera had lost consciousness and so he carried the limp figure on his back as he kept running. They were half way across the salt flat, when suddenly he felt a chill run down his spine. Turning, he squinted back towards the dunes they had come from. He could just barely tell that a dark row of figures had materialized on top of the white dune, large clouds boiling from behind them and spreading inkly out across the blue sky.

~~*~~

“There they are! After them!” Shekmet called, as he and his Tracers descended the dune and began sprinting across the salt flat towards the lonely figure running with all his might towards the gateposts in the distance. Behind them the massive storm clouds that had risen from the distance were thundering dark and omnious overhead.

Prisoner of Water: Chapter 14

Ismes and Manera were seated in the shadow of one of the dunes. They had been walking along the tops of the high red canyon walls which plummeted down into the Blue River fall below them, keeping away from the edge where they could be spotted by the Tracers. The road they traveled on was a winding strip of dunes between the edge of the cliff and the swamplands to the west.

“How much farther do you think Djariviera is?” Manera asked, coughing hard as she scanned the nearby dunes for any sign of life.

“Well, we’ve had to slow down because of your coughing and my eyes. So, it may actually not be until tomorrow afternoon until we see Djariviera.” Ismes said as he cooked the snake he had caught on the small pile of dried palm fronds. “Pretty soon we’re gonna see more and more of these dunelands, cause the swamp doesn’t get as close to the cliffs further on. We should be good with water, but I’m curing the snake with the palm fronds so we’ll have some food. It won’t be a lot, but it should be enough.”

As Ismes was still speaking, a large white snow hawk dropped down and tore a piece of burning frond from the flames with its sharp talons, before flying on. Ismes sighed and placed the partially cured snake into the provisions sack.

“We’re going to have to move. I’m not sure how good Tracers really are but if they live up to their reputations we’ll have to move fast.”

Manera simply stood up. The fire seemed to have gone out of her normally harsh eyes, and to be slowly seeping into her blood. The fever was only slight, but she knew that if they did not make it to Djariviera soon, she would be in serious trouble. Her mind went back to the great pestilence, and she shuddered, forcing herself to keep walking.

~~*~~

The group of men and women were all outrageously proportioned, either thin and tall or large and stout, their varying skin tones from the light tan of the coast to the ebony of the mountains spoke that they came from all over Nyaami. The group were headed by the only normally proportioned man, who walked with a cane because he was missing a leg.

“Good morning, what are three young uns like yerselves doing in these parts?” he asked, smiling broadly.

“Well, we’re traveling down the river... on vacation.” Josten said matching the man’s grin.

“At the start of winter?” the man asked cocking an eyebrow.

“We, er, wanted to beat all the tourist that are always crowding the rivers during the summer.” Josten said, sweat running down the back of his neck.

“Hahaha! Yer a bright one!” The man said, slapping Josten hard on the back and laughing a full bellied laugh. “My name’s Captain Shango. I’m the leader of our humble band of roving traders. We were comin up here to see if there was anything left of the northern traders, but looks like they’re still up there in the mountains holding their celebrations.”

“Yeah.” Josten’s smile felt sour in his stomach, “You know how they like to celebrate.”

“Oh aye! They do!” The man gave another roaring laugh, “Oh well, too bad. I was hoping to trade some of that sweetbark from them.”

“We have sweetbark!” I yelled, rummaging through my pack before dumping a sack full of the Yikombe bark on the ground, “I gathered these last night, as, er, specimens, but I’d be willing to trade this with you gentlemen, if you’re looking for some.”

“Yer friend speaks kinda funny. But I’m willing to make a deal with any man willing to strike a bargain fer a trade!” The man said smiling just a bid too broadly, “So, what would ye be wanting in return?”

“Passage.” I said, my pride at my speed of acquiring the Uma language hurt, “As far down the river as this will get us.”

“To Catamhar.” Anai spoke up.

“Hmmm, a trip down the river?” Captain Shango’s smile broadened even wider, “Well, if thats what you want, then it’s a deal!”

Josten shook the man’s hand and instantly a long, lanky member of the traders swooped down and scooped the bag up before they descended down the stairs. We followed behind, holding a whispered conversation as we went.

“I don’t like this.” Anai spoke.

“I don’t either. But it beats running all day, and now we have a way down the river. Good thinking, Tsinya.” Josten said turning to me.

“What does Tsinya mean?” I asked.

“It literally means ‘white-water’.” Anai answered, “But its really our word for soft powdery snow. But more importantly, I don’t care if this does get us to Catamhar, I still don’t like this plan, Josten. Something feels off about them.”

“I know.” Josten said, taking her hand and smiling, “But we don’t have any other choice. And like you said, we have to get back to the mountain before the glacier becomes too dangerous. And by the looks of the streams and how fast they’re swelling up, we don’t have a lot of time.”

~~*~~

Shekmet stood on the large rock with the flat top, eyes closed as he listened to the sound of the wind. His dark eyes snapped open and he looked towards the righthand shore. At that instant, his snow hawk shot over the edge, looped in the air, before descending on his shoulder with an ear-splitting screech.

“Good, girl, Tsingo.” he spoke, taking the burnt piece of charcoal from her talon.

Four of his men slid silently up the rocky outcrop. He could already make out but he wanted to be absolutely certain before they pursued. They took the burnt frond, each sniffing, feeling, tasting, and scanning it, delivering their commentary as they went.

“Swamp fronds. They camp to the west of the river close to the swamps.”

“Dunesnake meat. From the strip of dunelands between the swamps and the cliffs.”

“The fronds are green. For curing the snake meat. They intend to cross the greater dunelands towards Djariviera.”

“Crocodile scent. Same as from that tunnel we found. If they are about to enter the greater dunelands then they have only traveled a short distance before making camp. Most likely one of them is injured or ill.”

Shekmet crushed the front, letting the blackened ciders fly off as he spoke, “We have to find them, and catch them before they reach Djariviera. But, just in case, you two, take the swifttale salamanders and go ahead to Djariviera. Wait for them at the Herbalist. If they manage to slip past us, they’ll head there.”

~~*~~

“Here we are!” the one of the traders yelled, “Best be climbing aboard the Drunken Queen before we set off. You can bring your... er, animal.”

Anai just shook her head as she led the eland up onto the deck of the large, flat bottomed sail boat. Josten and I followed, and the gangplank was pulled up behind us. After a few moments we were off, following the river through the canyons, as waterfalls fell on either side of us.

“So, Captain.” I said, “The Drunken Queen? That’s an interesting name.”

“Oh, aye. I won her in a bet with a drunken river bandit who kept insisting that she was a queen. Hahaha! So I renamed her ship the Drunken Queen as a token of my esteem!” The trader captain laughed heartily.

“B-bandit?” I asked nervously, “Are there a lot of those on these rivers?”

“Well, we’re on the White River right now, and it don’t go past many of the big cities. Its out on the Blue River you’d want to be on the look out. River Bandits an’ Pirates are often closer than you’d think.” And both he and the crew found this joke hallarrious.

I tried laughing along, before taking my notebook out and writing as I asked, “So, um, let me see if I’ve got everything. We’re at the Thousand-falls Cliffs, on the White River, heading to Catamhar, which is north of here?”

The Captain had to catch his breathe before replying from all the laughter, “Aye, lad, but some call this the Nyaakni Valley, the Valley of Water and Fire. Cause of the blue rocks on one side and the red rocks on the other.”

“Why is it like that?” I asked, scribbling as fast as I could.

Here, an older trader, with grizzled grey-blue hair hobbled up, his one eye milky white, who answered in a hollow voice, “I grew up in the Valley, and there the old ones had a story. They said that long ago, in the old days, the Water Goddess wanted to raise up a home on our side of the water. So, she pushed the first mountains up. But they simply fell back into the sea. So, she pushed them up again. And more mountains rose up under the first, but they fell back also. Finally, she pushed up a third time and this time cut some of her hair and threw it like tethering ropes to the land of Nyami. Those ropes became the waterfalls and the loop she tied around the land became the White River. This is why the mountains are so many and why they are blue, like the sea. Because they came from the other side of the water.”

I noticed Anai had crossed her arms and was shaking her head. I made a mental note to ask her about it later. At the moment, the ship gave a sudden lurch, and the Trader Captain called all hands to their stations. I ran to the side and saw the river gushing and roaring with white foam.

“Hahaha! Ye didn’t think its called the White River for nothing, did ye?” The Captain roared with a laugh, “It’ll be rough riding from here on till we get to the glass of the Catanya Tower.”

Our craft rose and fell with alarming speed, and soon I began to feel the breakfast from that morning rising in my gullet. I seemed to be the only one seriously affected. Anai was tending to the frightened animal, stroking the soft red fur and calming it by speaking softly to it. Meanwhile, as we cleared the first set of rapids, some of the crew began to play a game with six bowels and several piles of colored stones, Josten soon joining in. I readied myself for less than pleasant trip down the river. Luckily, we were only a day away from Catamhar.

Prisoner of Water: Chapter 13

The night hung thick over the wide running Blue River as the boat flew down at dangerous speed. The rudderman gripped the wooden handle so tight his knuckles were turning white, maneuvering the craft around the large, dangerous rocks. The craft gained speed as it slid into a canyon, the high red walls rising high on each side. Sliding past the sides of the boats were the black slithering salamanders, water gushing up in waves from the rapid movements of their slimy bodies. They neared the boat, and two of the dark cloaked Tracers launched from their backs towards the craft.

“Incoming, left and right, almost at the stern!” yelled Manera as she stood up from behind a crate.

Ismes responded leaping off the top where he had been hiding, using the end of his spear like a bat, knocking both out of the air before they could even touch the ship. He squinted in the dull light of the moon, the spray from the river stinging his already burning eyes, further dulling his vision into complete blindness. On the sides of the canyon walls were two more salamanders, running as the Tracers rode them horizontally. The first one launched towards the ship.

“Ismes! Your left side!” Manera called while coughing.

Ismes responded by turning and swinging the spear again, but this time he felt the weight increase as the Tracer grabbed on and began sliding down the length of the shaft. Ismes only had a spit second to act, and quickly used the Tracer’s momentum and weight against himself, pole vaulting the Tracer into the water on the other side of the boat.

“Behind you!” Manera yelled, launching three daggers so quickly they barely had time to gleam in the moonlight, before pegging the Tracer solidly to the canyon wall by his mantle.

“Thanks.” Ismes said, as he tried to scan behind them while talking to the old man steering the boat. “Where are we now?”

“Well, I reckon we’re abot helf ways to Dj’viera.” he said, “Yew know, this whole chasin business is gonna cost ya extra!”

“You’ll get your money, old man. Exactly where are we. Tell me what you see. My eyes are getting worse from the poison.” he said before turning to Manera, “How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” she lied, glad he couldn’t see her face. “We’re surrounded by canyons on either side, and it looks like we’re just getting to the end of these rapids, the river is deepening and the large rocks are all but done. It looks like there is just one last big one up ahead.”

“Does it have a flat top with a smaller round rock on the top?” Ismes asked urgently.

“Yes.” Manera said, “What’s the plan?”

“Yeah, what are ya plannin on doin?” The old man chimed in. “It better involve payin me!”

“Well, neither of you are going to like it...” Ismes said, turning to the two.

~~*~~

Shekmet almost had them in his grasp. His men had caught up to the boat and were attempting to board it at that very moment. His salamander sped up as it neared the main pack pursuing the boat. Just at that moment, the top of the large pile of cargo burst into flames, bright orange light lighting up the red canyon walls which had looked blue in the moonlight. Shekmet’s men landed like shadows on the craft and he was close on their heels.

“P-please! Help!” the old man said as he was dragged forward by the two black robed figures.

“Where are they?” Shekmet asked, his tone deeper and more menacing than before.

“I-I dono! But he was a crazy un! Set fire to my cargo! I knew not to trust the likes o’ him!” The old man said shaking his fist. “An’ worse of all! He didn’t pay me!”

“Silence.” the word carried a tone of menace that silenced the old man instantly. “Now. If they aren’t here. Where are they?”

“Well, after he threw the torch on my cargo, he up an’ grabbed the other un an jumped in the water.” the old man said shaking and pointing towards the inky depths.

The shadow warriors around Shekmet were in the water before a command could be issued, sliding like black seals into the depths. As they moved through the depths, they tapped the tops of the gloves together, which brought the crystal tops to brilliant life, sending bright shafts of light into the dark depths of the river. They swam against the hard current close to the surface and dove deeper where the current slowed, scanning the river, its bottom and banks. There, where the swift river water gushed into the canyon walls, hundreds of dark passageways gaped in the sides under the water, while omnious bubbles rose from many of them. They had lost the two, for now.

~~*~~

Anai rose before the sun, walking along the blue boulders till she came to the edge of the cliffs. A nightmare had woken her from her sleep crying. Turning her back on the cliffs, she looked towards the mountains, and longed for her home so far away. The mountains were hidden by a thick cloud bank that had risen up over the peaks. She wished she could see the blue ridges, with their dusted white tops. She wished that she could be done with her training and be back home. She wished that things could just go back to the way they had been. But they would never be the same again. And as the overwhelming feeling of despair overtook her, she began to cry again.

I lay there, listening to her cry. And I felt so helpless. I wish Josten had been awake. He would know how to comfort her, what to say. After a few minutes, the crying stopped, and I sat up, seeing her walk towards us. I gave Josten a swift kick, and he snored before turning over and continuing his sleep. Anai sat down and began unpacking some food.

“Leave him. He’ll wake up with the sunlight. Here have some food and come with. Let me show you what we couldn’t see last night in the dark.” Anai said, rising and taking my hand and leading me to the cliff. “This is the Thousand-falls Cliff.”

I followed her up towards the cliff edge. What I saw there took my breathe away and I have yet to see anything as breathtaking as that morning on the cliff. Beneath our feet the blue granite of the mountains continued for a bit before falling away into a deep canyon. On the other side of the canyon were layers of red sandstone, and a red land lay ahead of us. And coming from the glacier was the thousands of streams and rivelets which all ended here at the cliff, plummeting into the gorge and feeding the white, gurgling waters below us.

The sun began to rise over this, turning all the water to gold and peach, as birds woke from their crags in the canyon and took the the skies, thousands of birds of all kinds, gilded in gold by the light. They rose up, their songs filling the air as the colors seeped into the world. She turned toward the mountain and closed her eyes, its peaks still clouded by the mists. I looked down, towards the canyon and thats when I saw them. A group of men tied a craft to a rocky ledge.

“Whose that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Probably traders. Wake Josten.” She said, her face suddenly harsh.

I did and Josten came quickly to see what was the matter. The men were walking from the bottom of the cliffs up towards the top. They saw us, and stopped. We drew back, our minds recalling the last group of strangers we had encountered. They started walking up the rough stairs carved in the side of the cliffs again.

“Alrighty everyone.” Josten said, walking back to the bags and quickly breaking up camp and tying things together. “Let’s be ready. Maybe they’re friendly. But if they’re not, we’ll have to make a run for it along the cliffs.”

“To where?” Anai asked, looking around.

“The swamps.” Josten replied after pausing. “Its a day away so hopefully we won’t have to, but its our only chance. The glacier is too steep, they’d catch us for sure. And there aren’t any other ways down into the river, other than jumping.”

“Um, guys.” I spoke, grabbing the last of the supplies, “They’re here...”

~~*~~

Ismes and Manera emerged from a small pool in the shade of a group of palm trees. They crawled up onto the sand, both coughing up water. Ismes forced himself to crawl up the sandy dune and looking out towards the river. His eyes were still burning and he could not make anything out. Manera joined him silently, no words needed for her to know he needed her help.

“I don’t see anything. It doesn’t look like they set out on foot. They must have followed into the tunnels.” Manera spoke intensely watching the side where she knew the river was.

“Good, they’ll be nice and lost in there for at least a while.” Ismes said, turning and rummaging through the sack he had taken with them from the ship.

“Which we could have been too! Its lucky we found our way out. Unless this isn’t the first time you used these tunnels.” Manera asked.

Ismes frowned, finding what he needed and threw the thick piece of meat into the water, the dark shape disappearing as he replied, “It’s not the first time. There was a time, a long time ago, when I had to use the tunnels. They were my salvation.”

“What happened?” Manera asked sensing the deeper story behind Ismes’ laconic words.

Ismes suddenly felt another shudder of familiarity at the tone she used, and knew he had heard that tone somewhere before, but after gathering his thoughts, continued, “You remember on the boat when you asked if I had a father, well, I don’t know. If I did he left before I ever met him. My step-uncle raised me. Well, he taught me at least. Taught me to get my own food if I wanted to eat. Taught me just because someone is saying kind words to you doesn’t mean they won’t turn around and hit you at any second. Taught me never to sleep soundly, especially when there is a drunk in your house. I ran away when I was nine.”

“Nine?” Manera asked, shocked, “You were nine when you left home?”

“I didn’t exactly just up and leave. I ran. Ran for my life. See I grew up fast. And part of that growing up meant that I realized the real danger I was in and knew I had to get away.” Ismes’ eyes grew distant as he threw more of the meat into the pool, “He was going to sell me to slavers in the Inland Seas. And when I ran, he said I was stealing from him and so he was going to kill me before he let me steal from him. I ran to the river, and found the tunnels, and escaped from him.”

As he spoke, suddenly the water began to boil as large bodies rose and thrashed through the tunnels, claws gleaming and jaws snapping as the large crocodiles fought for the food, driven into a blood frenzy by the raw meat. In the process they wounded each other and so the feed turned cannibal quickly.

“That should help to discourage the Tracers from following us. But we won’t be able to take the river. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way on foot.” Ismes spoke, trying to change the subject. “It will take almost a whole day at this pace.”

As he got up, took his position by feeling the sun on his face, and turned towards the south where he knew Djariviera was. But as he turned to go, he felt a hand on his shoulder, give a small squeeze as Manera spoke compassionately.

“Ismes, I’m sorry that you had to go through that. But in a way, I’m also glad. Because if you hadn’t, we would not have been able to escape. So, thank you.”