She looked past Tyla’s shoulder to the mountains that were growing ominously in the distance. From her vantage point, she could make out the white ragged top on one the most massive of the peaks. She watched the mountains for a little while, whilst the horse charged on.
‘Why are we not heading directly for the hills?’ she enquired.
‘The ford lies to the West,’ answered Tyla. ‘It is the only place for many leagues we can cross the Corb. Further North the river runs too fast, even these horses would find this impossible to cross. Following the course of the river would extend our journey by many days.’
‘Can you talk to Faric with your thoughts?’
Tyla laughed loudly. ‘Your mind flits from one matter to another, like a small bird foraging for morsels amongst the bushes. I shall name you “Verdin”. It means little forager.’ His laughter continued.
‘Then I shall name you “Chaeto” - desert mouse,’ she replied smartly, ‘you scurry to avoid my questions as fast as I can ask them.’ Tyla laughed heartily at her words.
‘You still have not answered me,’ she highlighted.
‘No, I cannot commune directly with Faric. We can sense each other, although it is not a conscious act. When we fight, we truly become as one.’
‘But what if you wish to be alone?’ she asked. ‘I would ride past to the edge of the city when I wanted to be away from my home; when Cairn became unbearable or life seemed too much. I would ride until I could no longer see the farm, and then sit and gaze out into the empty expanse of the desert, wondering what it would be like to ride on and never stop. I never imagined it would be like this.’
She stopped her recollections and returned to her question. ‘What if you do not want any contact with Faric, can you stop it?’
‘It is not a simple matter,’ he said, his voice even and measured. ‘I have already said I cannot hear him. It is emotions I can sense, feelings and moods - I can sense his presence, tell where he is.’
‘If you stand in the burning mid-day sun, can you block out its light? No matter how tight you close your eyes, you can still see its glow. Even if you cover your eyes, you can feel its warmth. I cannot block him out, not even if I wanted too. I owe him my life.’
Aviti listened intently to his words. He was so different from anyone she had ever met.
‘Faric saved your life?’ she asked. ‘I would like to hear the story, if you wished to tell it.’
‘It is no tale,’ said Tyla, ‘not one worthy of retelling. I was too slow with a strike. Faric intervened; otherwise I would have lost my eye, and thus my life.’
‘Your scar… is that how you came by it?’
‘Yes. It serves me as a reminder of my failure and how I must strive every day to match Faric.’ Tyla’s words were spoken as a simple truth, one that could not be denied.
‘We approach the river,’ he said. Hand signals flashed quickly between the Lyrats as they rode. ‘We shall soon stop and make our preparations to cross.’
As the horses approached the ford in the river, she heard the rumble of the water. Aviti had not been sure what to expect. Tyla had mentioned a crossing place, but she had imagined a flat wide dip where she would be able to see the riverbed. As they approached the lipped bank, she could see the tumultuous waters rush past. A few branches torn from trees were swept past as they looked on.
‘I thought you said this was a safe place to cross!’ she shouted, struggling to be heard over the noise of the gushing torrents.
‘The river should not be so active,’ said Tyla, a concerned look on his face. ‘Other than a storm, weeks past, there has been no rain to feed the river.’
‘What shall we do?’ she asked. ‘We cannot go back and we cannot wait here.’
‘Then we must cross,’ answered Tyla, ‘and it must be soon if we are to make cover before nightfall. I shall rest easier when we having running water between us and the Lytch.’ Faric nodded his agreement, but Aviti caught the unease in their eyes.
The companions dismounted swiftly from their horses. She walked to the edge of the bank and gazed into those tortured waters. The churning, foaming waters roiled beneath her. As she looked down, she tried to think of the last few days, tried to find something to focus on. Their flight from N’tini’s farm had been as chaotic and swift as the river’s flow. She had no idea how they would cross.
‘How can we do this?’ Panic coloured her words. ‘I am not going in there. I shall drown. I have never – I have never seen so much water.’
‘Easy girl,’ said Faric. ‘We shall find a way to cross, even if it means tying you onto the horse.’
‘Do not call me girl!’ she snapped above the roar of the water. ‘I have a name. I am not a burden and I shall not be treated as your baggage, to be grudgingly carried.’
She glanced back at Wist over her shoulder. He was looking pensively at the embankment, as if he was trying to recall something lost. As if something important was gnawing at the edge of his thoughts.
He looked up at Aviti and fear had supplanted his apprehension.
‘I have no idea how to swim,’ he announced.
As Aviti turned to face him, her right foot passed straight through the damp edge of the riverbank. She fought futilely for an instant to stop her fall, but there was no way to prevent it. She plunged into the depths of the river and the current swept her away.
9 - The Flood
Tyla was running at full speed before Wist had time to catch his breath. As he ran, the Lyrat discarded his heavy cloak and katana. Without breaking his stride, he launched himself headlong into the Corb. His dive went unnoticed by the river, which continued its relentless rush back toward Mashesh. Wist ran towards the edge of the shore, desperate to catch a glimpse of Aviti, but Faric caught him a couple of paces short of the river.
‘Be careful,’ Faric warned. ‘I do not wish to follow you in. Tyla shall find her, although the current shall carry them several leagues downstream.’
‘Then get the horses ready!’ yelled Wist. ‘We’ve got to catch them.’
The Lyrat shook his head. ‘How do you propose to cross the river? It widens beyond this point. Or would you travel south and run back into the arms of my people? Would you render our sacrifice meaningless?’
‘Even if Tyla can pull Aviti from the river,’ shouted Wist, ‘would you leave them to travel on foot? I won’t abandon Aviti to the desert. We'll cross here and follow the river back south.’
‘No,’ said Faric, in a tone that would brook no argument. ‘Tyla will be of the same mind as I am. He knows where we go; he shall take the girl there. He can guide them through the desert.’
‘Aviti, God damn it,’ Wist spat futilely. ‘Her name is Aviti. She was meant to be in my care.’
‘She could be in no better hands than Tyla’s,’ assured the Lyrat. ‘Do you doubt his ability? Even with no weapons and without shelter, there are none who can match his ability to survive.
‘The responsibility was given to me,’ Wist said, his anger all but spent.
‘Do not attempt to alter that which you cannot control,’ advised Faric. ‘Let us prepare the horses to cross.’
Wist felt himself carried along with Faric’s argument, as powerless as Aviti to alter his course now. ‘But how can I cross?’ he asked plaintively. ‘I cannot swim.’
‘You shall ride,’ the Lyrat replied. ‘I will lead the horses through the water.’
Wist shook his head in disbelief. ‘You can’t do that! You’ll be swept away. Even the horses will have a hell of a time crossing.’
‘Just help me,’ said Faric. ‘We are too vulnerable here without cover and in the full light of day. I will not tarry here.’
Succumbing to the Lyrat’s will with a shrug, Wist went to pick up the packs and belongings that had been laid down. The shame of this latest failure burned in him. He could not believe he had let Aviti fall. The terror she had felt at the thought of crossing the river had been evident on her face. He could barely imagine wha
t she must be enduring now.
He thought of the daily trek from N’tini’s farm to the nearest well for water during his stay there. Aviti must have made that same journey nearly every day of her young life, carrying the inanimate, placid fluid, completely under her control. He could understand her fear at seeing the raw unadulterated power of nature for the first time. Even he’d been shocked when he’d laid eyes on the river. When he was last here, the river had been no more than a small trickle as there had been so little rainfall.
He wished he could have leapt in after her, but he knew Faric was right. He’d just have been another piece of flotsam being carried along. Tyla was as fast and strong as anyone he’d ever seen. If anyone stood a chance of pulling themselves and someone else out of the river, it was the Lyrat. He tried to put Aviti’s plight to the back of his mind, but the guilt that he’d spawned was now an animate, almost sentient being within him. He could find no way to contain it, or halt its progress.
With the remainder of the packs on the horse, Faric dropped to one knee, offered his cupped hands to him and Wist managed to mount the horse first time. Faric grasped the horses’ reins and moved over to the banks of the gushing river, not far from where Tyla had plunged under its surface.
‘This is madness,’ said Wist, as he settled onto the horse’s back. ‘You can’t hope to stand against the river.’
Faric turned to look at him. ‘Have faith,’ he said, and then he stepped off the bank into the river. Wist expected to see Faric’s legs swept from under him as the water pounded him relentlessly.
A step: the desert tribesman moved into the river and the water raced up hungrily to meet him, as if it meant to devour all in its path.
A step: the river continued its onslaught as the Lyrat shifted further into its flow.
Another step: the river had passed his thighs as Faric started to lead the horses in.
It appeared to Wist that sheer willpower kept the Lyrat from being carried off. The determination and resolve etched upon Faric's face humbled Wist once more.
The horses, perhaps buoyed by Faric’s confidence, showed no signs of fear or uneasiness at the task ahead of them, and continued to step with regal surety. As the water rose to the Lyrat’s waist, Wist could see the effort and strain sculpted on his face. Veins protruded along Faric’s temples as he thrust his way through the tumult.
Wist glanced away from the battle in the stream and looked upstream at the widening river. The churning, roiling waters tumbled over themselves in their eagerness to reach them. White foaming turmoil rushed along the banks at the far side of the river, awaiting their arrival, and they were barely a quarter of the way across.
As they stepped onwards, Wist sat forwards on the horse to allow him to reach the horse’s head. Running his hands over its smooth chestnut-brown coat behind its ears and neck, hoping to provide some comfort, he could feel tension building in the great beast. It was not terror or fear that emanated from it though, it was concentrated power that he could feel, as if it was attempting to connect with the deep earth through the riverbed. Perhaps his assumption was wrong? Was the horse was pulling strength from the ground? Could it be drawing on the raw energy of the earth?
The water coursed past Faric’s chest now, but still he battled on, clutching the reins in his right hand. Their progress had slowed to a crawl as they reached the middle of the river. Wist wished he could reach out to lend the Lyrat his strength. The noise of the river’s battering assault swelled to a cacophonous roar. Waves lashed over Faric’s face, forcing him to expel the water from his mouth, but even this never broke his grim determination to cross. Could anything stop him? The people of Mashesh had faced a marauding army of these titans. There could be no hope for those poor souls now.
Wist looked once more upstream to the oncoming waters. In the distance, they rolled and turned; faster and faster they rotated. From his vantage point atop the horse, he could see that the waters were swelling. He was sure of it and they were still some distance from the safety of the far shore. The rising waters reached across the full breadth of the river. As the wave crawled closer to them, the swell broke eagerly over the edges of the banks. He gazed into the darkening water and within its depths, he began to make out shapes. Tormented beings clawed at the surface, attempting to break free from their malleable prison. As the forms pushed closer to the apex of the forming wave, the top collapsed in a rolling wall of white foam. The breaking wave gathered pace; it would engulf them in seconds.
‘Faric!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs. ‘The water!’ They were still yards from safety. The Lyrat showed no sign of having heard and waded on. If that wave hit them, then they would be lost to the river.
Instinctively Wist kicked the horse in the ribs and yelled in its ear. He pulled the reins from Faric’s grasp and drove the panicked beast onwards. As the front of the wave reached them, he pushed the horses up the collapsing embankment. Arms reached from the crest of the waves, pulling at them as they fled. Breaking free, the two horses scrambled up onto the flat ground. Then Wist turned to look for the Lyrat but he was gone.
There was no sign of him in the chaotic turmoil of the water. Only the raw power of the river remained.
Wist steadied the two horses and leapt down to his feet. As he rushed back to the riverbank, he could see that the sudden onslaught from the river had passed. Already the level of the river had dropped back past its starting point. Frantically, he searched the water for any sign of Faric.
‘Wist,’ a weak voice called from along the shore.
‘God, Faric.’ Wist ran to the fallen figure. The Lyrat must have been swept up and spat out by the river as it had passed. He had been deposited quite a way along. Steam rose in great billowing gusts from him.
Wist approached the drenched Lyrat, who lay on his back gesturing for him to come closer. ‘The horses Wist, do not lose the horses,’ he instructed. Wist turned and sprinted back, but they had not wandered far from where he had abandoned them. Steam rose from both of the animals, as the sun warmed their bodies. Neither of them resisted as he took their reins and led them over to the still prone Lyrat. The dark, damp sand was rapidly drying under Wist’s booted feet.
The two horses came to a halt beside Faric. The closest lent its head down to sniff at his fingers and caressed his hand with its muzzle. The Lyrat’s chest rose and fell as he took in massive gulps of air, as if he fought to control the natural rhythms of his body. Kneeling beside him, Wist lifted the hand that the horse had been inspecting. He reflectively dropped it back to the damp sand as he felt the intense burning heat scorching his skin. The heat from Faric’s body had already dried his clothes.
‘What’s happening?’ Wist asked desperately. The Lyrat started to writhe on the desert sand as Wist stared on.
‘Water,’ Faric gasped as his body convulsed.
‘Water?’
‘Get water!’ roared Faric. The heat from him was so strong, Wist could feel it on his skin a full pace away. He ran to the packs that had survived the desperate flight from the river. Pulling out a water skin, he rushed back to Faric’s side, sliding down into the sand beside him. The heat emanating from the Lyrat had now dried the sand in a circular area around his body. Fumbling with the container’s stopper, he broke the seal and thrust it to Faric's lips.
The Lyrat's burning hands grasped the water skin and poured the liquid across his own body. The water evaporated quickly, leaving Faric shouting in pain.
‘Help me, back to the river,’ Faric said in short, breathless gasps. He forced his hands under the Lyrat’s scalding body and dragged him towards the river, as he had been commanded. Faric pushed with all the strength he had left to aid Wist’s efforts. As they approached the river, Wist could hear that the deafening roar had gone. He glanced over his shoulder as he approached the edge of the river. To his amazement, it was no more than a foot deep now, its anger spent. Overbalancing on the edge of the bank, they tumbled into the cool, clear waters of the Corb.
Eventually the fountains of steam stopped, and he was left looking at the exhausted Lyrat who sat in the gurgling stream.
‘Help me up,’ said Faric in a soft tone. ‘I am too weak to stand on my own.’ He stood up in the riverbed, the water barely reaching his knees now. He extended his hand, but as Faric reached to grab it, Wist flinched in fear of being roasted once more, but the Lyrat’s touch was cool once again. Placing his arm around Faric’s waist, Wist helped to lift the larger man back to the dry land once more.
‘What are you?’ he asked. ‘You move with a speed and precision that defies belief; you “talk” with Tyla without words, and now - this. What the hell are you?’
Faric replied with a question of his own. ‘Do you always mask your fear with anger, Wist?
Wist looked at the sagging Lyrat as he deposited him onto the sands, near where he had initially lain. Taking a deep breath, he brought his temper under control. ‘You still haven’t answered my question, Faric,’ he forced his voice to betray no emotion. ‘What are you? No man I have ever met can do what comes easily to you.’
‘I would not describe what I did in the river as easy.’ Faric’s words still came in short bursts, but a smile now graced his lips. ‘But I am only a man, Wist. No more, no less. There is nothing I have done that another could not. Practice and patience, control and self-knowledge - that is all it takes.’
--*--
A dull rumble filled Aviti’s world. As she raced along beneath the turbulent surface of the river, she marvelled at the beautiful tranquillity of it all. The brilliant, burning light from the sun diffused on the churning waters above her. Floating through the cascading water, she felt her burdens slip from her. She felt as if the pulsing current filtered the tangible from the nebulous within her. For the first time in her life, she was free.
The Redemption of Wist Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3: The complete collection Page 11