Waterlogged (The Valkwitch Saga)
Page 7
“There’s a clear area at the top,” Sidon said, gazing upward.
“This’ll do nicely,” Tyrissa said as she roped the boat to the dock. Only small, scrappy vegetation clung to the area, mosses and shrubs, a welcome break from the density of the swamps and forests.
They ascended the winding natural stair of ledges up the cliffs, a series of cuts from the gradual wear of wind and water. Tyrissa tried to run through the coming process in her head, but came up with few practical steps. This wouldn’t be the same as the shard a few hours ago. No, that was simple destruction and nullification. Easy. This was like surgery on a man’s life force. On his very being. Pacts were utterly intertwined with a person’s life and they’re supposed to be permanent. Tyrissa had only done this sort of thing once before and it was more an accident than anything else. Perhaps it wasn’t supposed to be done.
And yet, the lethal urgings of her Pact had vanished the moment she agreed to help him. Perhaps this is the right way, or at least an alternative.
Must every hunt end with a kill? Was saving Ash little more than a lucky mistake?
From atop the bluffs the Rildermeek and River Callen spread out below them like an idealized painting. The river looked small compared to the vast swamplands that abutted it, a minor feature among the countless waterways and ponds coiling through a carpet of verdant greens and browns. Tyrissa could spot Stotten as a smudge of gray wood to the south. A moderate wind blunted the warmth of the departing afternoon.
“Are you certain you want to go through with this, Sidon?”
Sidon strode up to the cliff’s edge. He yanked the drawstring bag of jadeshell powder from his belt and upended the contents in his waiting palm. The wind picked up the granules of powder, sending a swirling stream of iridescent motes out over the river.
Tyrissa pulled her dagger from her belt and set it aside in a hollow in the stone at their feet, then pinned it down with a loose rock. Away from her, secure from any elemental floods or firestorms, but also nearby just in case it all turned sour. One corner of her mind quavered in protest at the weapon being even that far away.
“What now?” Sidon asked. He had recovered some of his earlier energy, a pulse of magick in Tyrissa’s mind, a greater elegance to his every movement. A sense of life as vibrant as the near-wilderness around them.
“Come stand near me,” Tyrissa said. She held her arms out low. Sidon caught her meaning and they linked arms, grasping each other short of the elbow. She fought down her Pact’s absorption, suppressing it for a moment. But she already felt a powerful draw from him, a tantalizing source.
“Don’t resist and don’t fight me, but keep a firm idea of yourself in mind. Yourself before the Pact, those aspects of you untouched by Water’s influence.”
“A warm memory?”
“Yes, something like that.”
Tyrissa gave him no further warning beyond a severe nod. Once he gave one in turn, she unleashed her hold on her Pact’s power and once again her blood ignited with magick. She was ready this time, funneling the flames behind her like the tail of a stationary comet. Mists and drifting, momentary ice crystals formed around Sidon in response, his own magick reacting in defense.
“I’m not doing that on purpose,” he assured her, still residing in that icy calm.
“I know. It’s the Pact itself fighting back. Soon a—”
A surge of power from flooded out from Sidon in an attempt to overwhelm her. Tyrissa steeled herself and let it filter through, one element into another. Her head swam with the heady emotional cocktail of the fire.
Just a little longer.
With an almost audible quiver in the air around them, the process stabilized. Tyrissa glanced around and saw that they stood in an isle of stillness among a roaring tempest of frost and flame. Tyrissa heart raced. She could do this, save him, be Mercy. She closed her eyes and savored the moment. She’d never felt more powerful.
Tyrissa leaned in and kissed Sidon. It seemed a simple, natural thing to do, as she was so full of Fire’s passion and recklessness checked by the weight and intimacy of holding a trusting life in her hands. Despite or because of the raging storm of frost and flame swirling around them, it was rather good. Maybe that was the fire talking, but this time she agreed in full.
Tyrissa pulled away, her eyes still closed.
“Now.”
She extended her senses and reached through Sidon, past the man and beyond this world. Into a frigid, fluid well of energy that formed the center of his being and power. Tyrissa gasped in shock, the unnatural cold slamming into her as if she had dived through an opening in a frozen lake.
Find the link.
She had to find the connection between Sidon and Elemental Water itself. But Sidon’s Pact had no form. It was a pool of unfathomable depth. She could feel the firestorm around her body flaring, raging as she funneled the seemingly limitless depth of magick into its counterpart.
Create a wall.
She tried to broaden her presence, to block the link. But every effort was doused by those endless flows of magick from the source. This wasn’t going to work. It wasn’t the same at all.
Stupid, ignorant girl.
A massive, unknowable presence slammed into her, as if the weight of an entire ocean pushed in from every direction. Tyrissa felt her knees buckle and recover in the physical world. Then felt an immense wash of heat and heard a man’s distant scream. She tried to pull away but the presence held on for a few moments that stretched into an eternity. Then a hint of acquiescence, of satisfaction, and it was gone. As was the well of Sidon’s power.
Tyrissa reeled backward as she snapped back to her body. She opened her eyes to a fading inferno, the top of the bluffs blackened. Her hands and arms were coated in ashes. Bits of burnt bone, none larger than a fingernail lay scattered across the rock.
She didn’t call his name. She knew what happened. The powerful bundle of fire magick raging in her blood was all that remained of Sidon, his essence and soul turned to fuel and nothing more. A burning volume of rage and failure and fury churned within her blood.
And so she simply released it all at once, becoming a firestorm and funeral pyre, a radiant beacon shining above the river, a second, rival sunset blazing in the skies. It was reckless. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to release this fury, but she couldn’t ignore the tears as they evaporated to steam on her cheeks, their sting a parting shot that flew to the skies.
Tyrissa sank to her knees and quivered from the release of so much magick at once, the fire fully spent. Soon the satisfaction and cold clarity of a completed Calling washed over her, warring against her sorrows. For once her Pact’s relief was unwelcome.
At the very least, she had an answer.
Can I be Mercy as well?
No.
Not yet.
* * * * *
After enough time Tyrissa roused herself, retrieved her dagger and singed sheath, and mechanically returned to the waiting boat below. She pushed away from the dock and rejoined the River Callen just as the sun finished its descent below the horizon. She did not take up the oars and sat back, slumped down from the weight of an exceptionally long day compounded by its failed conclusion.
Questions arose as she drifted downriver with the current. Why was her target Sidon, a young, strong Pactbound? Why would her Valkwitch Pact select him as a Calling and why would Elemental Water push him too hard to encourage selection? He would have been useful for years to come. It felt wrong. He wasn’t crazed or desperate. Tyrissa had personally allied with Pactbound just as stable as he without feeling an inkling of danger from them.
Even worse was the unshakable feeling of this Calling somehow being an acceptable draw for the force of Elemental Water. Elemental Fire left with a departing promise of vengeance when she severed Ash’s pact. As Sidon’s life burned away the only mood Tyrissa sensed from Water was smug satisfaction. As if Sidon’s entire purpose was to torment her, a psychological erosion. The more she thought on it, the more it seeme
d an appropriate tactic from the unfathomable depths.
‘The signs say I must ride the currents.’ He said he would follow me. I’ll certainly be carrying this failure for a while.
Tyrissa dug out a small lantern from the pilfered supplies and sparked it alight against the growing twilight. It burned with a clean, white elchemical flame, like a tiny fiery soul. Stotten lay downstream and Tyrissa left oars idle, content to let the current carry her away.
About the Author
Michael L. Watson has spent much of his life in fantasy worlds, be it reading, watching, game-mastering, or playing. He figured he might as well write a few and complete the set. He lives in beautiful Boulder, Colorado.
His first novel, Valkwitch, was self-published in 2013.
www.michaellwatson.com
@M_L_Watson
Valkwitch
If you’re interested in Tyrissa’s origin story, Valkwitch is available online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Libiro. An extended excerpt is available on the author’s website.