The Waters of Nyra- Volume I

by Kelly Michelle Baker

  “What kind of tree is this?” she asked. “I thought trees needed normal water to grow.”

  Oharassie blinked. “Depends on what you call normal, my dear. These are willows.”

  “Willows?”

  “Yes, you are not familiar with them? They grow on land too, well, in a similar form. Of course I’ve not seen one, but both those of the sea and land are known for their drooping branches. Although these ones,” he nodded to the nearest trunk, “only droop at night.”

  “I’ve never seen one on land,” said Nyra. “Droopy or not.”

  “Perhaps they are more common in Vewsai, or maybe Nyra the continent just doesn’t have any where you live.”

  They might. I wouldn’t know, the Sperks don’t let us near any trees other than those by the Reservoir. She did not say this aloud, afraid it would rupture the track of conversation.

  “Why are the leaves so strange? And branches?” she continued. “They were gray yesterday, now they’re … well, blue. And why do they stretch up like that?”

  Jubilant flippers splashed on each side of the water clearing, far apart, suggesting Oharassie’s daunting size somewhere beneath the dark green-black.

  “Now that’s a question I can’t quite answer. Some trees are green while others turn so red that they’d put even your flesh to shame. Sometimes it’s just the variations in a season. But these trees seem to react strongly to light, more strongly than the trees most land-dwellers are used to. I think it has to do with the willows’ size. These trees need a lot of sun, a lot! What you see now, above the sea, is worth a single tooth in a dragon’s mouth. The rest of the body is out of sight, reaching a thousand of my lengths below, where there is no sun at all. I think these trees are absorbing a disproportionate amount of rays, hence the brilliance.”

  “But they were gray last night,” reminded Nyra.

  “A little, yes,” nodded Oharassie. “It’s been very gray out, and the trees seem to dim with the weather, as well as at night. So long as the sky is resplendent, so are the willows.”

  Nyra wasn’t sure if this made sense. But still there was this beast of which she knew nothing other than a name containing many syllables. Eyes tracing his giant head, Nyra formed a question, with an inkling she already knew the answer.

  “What are you?”

  If possible, Oharassie’s smile became wider. “I’m an Aquadray, little landling, the largest of all reptilian sea-things.”

  Nyra suppressed a snort. It made perfect sense for the jovial monster to be an Aquadray, the horrible serpent of folklore who devoured travelers. Though it wasn’t half as surprising as an amiable Sperk.

  “I’ve roamed this ocean before your grandkin were born, I wager,” he said. “With my Yahinuve have come fourteen offspring and some score of their children, and a few fourth generation younglings are beginning to bud. I’ve touched the sands of every Vousille coast, twice or thrice venturing into the waters on the other side of the world. In my youth, of course. Yahinuve was my partner in adventure, from far travels to the homely comforts of these very trees, to which we’d always return. She passed on twenty years ago this coming spring.”

  How lonely.

  “No, I’m not entirely lonely,” he said, answering what Nyra had surely said out-loud. “Time heals everything, you know. Not all of the young realize this. Adults struggle with it too. It’s not an easy thing to practice. But practice it you must. I do miss my mate, but I do see her in the gestures of my children, especially in my fifth daughter. She’s the image of her mother, like looking back to my courting days. All of my children find me from time to time, either to revisit their birthing site,” he tapped a flipper to the closest trunk, making the leaves rustle, “or humor their old Dada. I like to hope that it’s more than just their wanting to appease me.”

  Nyra’s squirmed on the warm bark. Her stomach growled. Oharassie took a deep breath through a chest which could probably house Darkmoon (although she could not see it beneath the water).

  “Well, Nyra, I find myself at a crossroads,” he exhaled.

  “Why?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

  “You see, Yahinuve has wriggled her way back into my thoughts, just as I promised she would. And were she here today, she’d be fretting over your exposed ribs and insisting you eat immediately.”

  Nyra examined her flank. Thick protrusions lined her sides, no better than when she first noticed them days ago. Maybe worse.

  “But I, though concerned for your welfare… I have a greater curiosity. While my mate was more attuned to detail, I always looked at the big picture. And the big picture is an Agring countless wingspans from her burrow.”

  She sighed. “Are there any fish around?”

  “More than you would eat in a month,” he said, scanning over the water. Just as suddenly as the previous day, a fish bounced off Oharassie’s immense nostrils and up to Nyra. Only now she was ready. Opening her mouth wide, she caught it the ‘baby way,’ for what was sure to be one of the last times.

  “Then I’ll try to indulge you both.” As it was so often these days, she heard Thaydra when she spoke. Nyra ripped her teeth down the fish’s belly, exposing the most delicious-looking pink flesh. “But I warn you, I spit when I eat and talk.”

  Between chews, Nyra recounted her tale from the very beginning, first of her own life, and then the background stories. Storytelling was not her gift. Nyra knew this, although she’d spent years and years denying Blaze’s criticism. Details would get lost in ramblings and events were told out of sequence. “Sorry, I need to backtrack,” was a prevalent phrase on her part. But unlike Blaze, Oharassie was encouraging in getting her back on track with pardons and nods.

  Whenever she finished a fish he would toss another up. Otherwise, there were few interruptions. Oharassie changed as she spoke. He was quieter. The toothy grins mellowed. The spines fell limp on his back, flaring only when Nyra described a harrowing memory, like her fall from the cliff, or Mum’s description of wing mutilation. He transformed from an old babbler to a concerned friend.

  Well, maybe a friend. She kept her distance from Oharassie. Inside, she felt no barriers, and the acceptance of her storytelling promised a trust between them. Nevertheless, she did not get too close to the edge of her tree. It was thick with branches, affording protection against anything unexpected. She could not forget the expanse of Oharassie’s jaws.

  Finally she reached the Dragon Hawk, a tale she remembered so vividly that not a single error wriggled between her words. She recounted its hugeness (although it wasn’t so huge given her new companion’s size). Describing the Sliver was difficult, reminding her of how very little she knew about her mysterious savior. A strategic pause followed this tale as she considered the lore of Oharassie. He was great and old, and like anyone fitting that description, probably had a lot of excess knowledge. That’s what the bedtime stories said; old ones were wise. If Oharassie could identify an Agring dragon—a creature that never made habit of traveling the deep oceans—perhaps the Sliver would be familiar to him.

  Oharassie only blinked. Feeling defeated, Nyra sighed out the last sentence.

  “Then I found another island and about three days later you showed up.”

  He looked away, gravely. Something important was coming, she knew it.

  “You mixed up the Xefex genders,” he said simply.

  Or not. “Huh?”

  “The Aquatic Xefexes, the ones by your Green Spot. You are describing a variation of the Beewod species, at least that’s as near as I can translate. I’m not sure if your kind would have a name for them. But in Beewods, the females are large and plain. The males are small, but ornamented, just as all males tend to be ornamented.”

  Male ornamentation. It reminded her of a lesson with Aunt Dewep. Nyra had never seen extreme ornamentation on a land dragon, though it had been pointed out to her in insects. Aside from size, Sperk sexes looked the same. Agrings had larger males, though the first tip off was the female’s radian
t color. Dewep explained that the Agrings’ flashy red females made them different. Most creatures had flashy males; a trait developed from eons of choosy females. Agrings were special, though Dewep had no good explanation as to why. This made Blaze upset, thinking about a mate being chosen for something for which they had no control. Dewep looked very prepared to say That’s just the way it is, but instead said to everyone, You may choose to mate with whomever you want, just as long as he or she chooses you in return.

  “Nyra?” came Oharassie’s voice. “Are you listening?”

  She came back to the moment. “Yes.”

  Oharassie did not look convinced. “As I said, Reddish was male, not female. Violetish was female.”

  Nyra let this process. Reddish was male. She felt put out. The memories of Reddish danced back. Now they looked different.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, my dear. The point is they helped you,” he said sadly. “And it’s not that important for you to know in the grand scheme of things. It’s just a little thing…” he trailed off in soft rumbles.

  Nyra’s brow furrowed. He went on.

  “The thing that matters is you flew north.” The bulbous eyes met hers, curved glass encompassing her whole body. Two Agrings stared back from each, with firm wings and broad chests. The creature she’d seen reflected in the Reservoir time after time was changed.

  “You made a decision. One of a hero.”

  A sharp breath tingled her insides, and where humbleness should have filled her was instead a twang of embarrassment and fear.

  “You did the noble thing,” he said gently, and a reluctant smile stretched below his gloomy eyes. “You did the brave thing.”

  She waited for him to say something disparaging, some ill-remark amongst so much praise. Yet despite her suspicion, she waited with a prickled heart to hear ‘you did the right thing.’ But the list ended, and the flare of anticipation became a splinter of infected worry.

  “Oharassie,” she whispered, saying the name aloud for the first time, “have I made a mis—…”

  His shaking head cut her off. “Nyra, you are a determined creature. I’m not sure that you realize it, I mean really realize it. But you are. And you are set on your goal, and that’s a hallmark of your character.” He dipped beneath the surface and tossed up a fish. Nyra made no move to catch it. The thing slammed dead at her feet.

  He was lying. He had to be. Though she told him everything back to birth and beyond, he knew nothing of her character. To claim he did was mere mollifying to her weary spirit, and although she would have loved to bask in the warmth of comfort, she was too smart. The ocean had made her so.

  A sudden gust shot through the canopy and whipped her ears. The braches were falling, slowly, yet visibly. Wind snuck through as they moved, the leaves still flared apart.

  “Ohar—”

  “The first sun has set,” he said. “Move to a bigger tree, my dear. It will have soaked up a lot of sun.” He indicated a hollow protected from the wind. There, the leaves had returned to the drab gray of evening, having absorbed enough energy to rest and start again tomorrow. They matted together protectively. “It should be warm until morning. I’ll wake you when it’s time to move to another tree.” His steady voice was soothing. Only the minute tips of his spines betrayed him, buzzing like nervous bumble bees with no honey to store for winter. But he said no more, too distracted to continue. He was hiding something, which Nyra feared was in plain sight.

  She squeezed through branches to her new nook, preferring a few light scratches to flying out and back in again. The branches curled into a near-perfect cave, reminiscent of the comforting darkness of her burrow. Overhead dripped a thousand leaves, brushing her back. When closing her eyes, they could have been the soft touch of Thaydra and Blaze, the churning water below their tender snores.

  Nyra watched the sky turn from yellow to frosty blue. Drifting off, she entered an unforeseen world, where translucent spiders skated on blue cracks, their breaths puffing forth in white mists.

  She did not sleep. Not real sleep. Not the kind where one wakes up refreshed and ready. She watched Oharassie, trying to see whatever secret he was hiding. But there was nothing to do about it but wait, and so she watched him all through the wee hours of the morning, waiting for him to emerge from slumber. At last he stirred, yawning through his massive, brilliant teeth.

  “The cold is here, isn’t it,” she said.

  He fixed her with no confusion, no emotion.

  She had spoken a fact.

  “Yes,” he said, no longer sleepy.

  The morning bite gripped her skin. Oharassie waited.

  Nyra continued. “And I’m not close to where I need to go.”

  Like a stone in the Reservoir, Oharassie sank, his great snout hovering on lightly swaying waves.

  “Nyra,” he said gravely, “You are only about a fourth of the way across the ocean.”

  Nyra turned numb.

  “But I do not say ‘only’ to belittle you. You’ve gone farther than any land beast has ever gone at this time of year, I wager. You’d surely make the rest of the journey. Only—”

  “Only the season will make it impossible,” she finished.

  His throat rumbled tragically. “Yes.”

  It was quiet for awhile. Then Oharassie went on.

  “The cold is here, and coming still. It’s going to get harsher, and quickly, just as it came quickly. In a few weeks these trees will not afford you enough heat. Not enough to live. The leaves will fall very soon and not return until spring. And the daylight is shrinking too, but not the subtle shrinking you’re familiar with at home. Farther north, Quay appears less and less, showing for mere hours, if that. Less light, and less heat. Your travel time per day will drop, and your journey will be prolonged.”

  Though numb, she had the urge to argue. The urge, but not much strength. The words came more automatically than from the heart.

  “It’s not impossible to do this thing,” she said dully. “There’s that story with the ancestors. The adventurous young Agrings, in the story I told you. They made it to Garrionom.”

  “But your story says nothing of the season. I’d bet that they—”

  “They left in the summer, or spring, I know.” A drip of hot impatience filtered through her ice-hard stature. In it shined a glimmer of feeling.

  “What if I flew some at night? Used my time well. Couldn’t I—”

  “No, Nyra,” he said flatly. “You must understand, you made it this far on full, warm days. Those alone have taken their toll. It’s been about twenty days of travel? Imagine that quadrupled.”

  Nyra imagined. That alone, in perfect weather, would be awful.

  “You cannot finish, not in these conditions.”

  Pressure wrapped around her eyeballs. Her nostrils, cheeks, and even her teeth became choked by an invisible constriction.

  “What if I—” she began without intent nor an idea of how to finish, hoping to dream up a solution as she went or to evade it by a kindly interruption from Oharassie.

  “Nyra,” he said. He rose up to the blue curtains of her tree, closer than ever before. A gargantuan nose hovered behind the leaves. “You’re hyperventilating. Calm down. Sit.”

  She didn’t sit.

  “Slow breaths,” he crooned.

  Nyra cringed, strained and weak, like she’d flown a day’s journey in a matter of seconds.

  So she had made a mistake. But the problem went much further, so much further than she cared to imagine. True, this was not her task to complete, and surely no one at home expected anything of a youngling in terms of the enslavement’s downfall. Yet it was her fault. Even in the absence of hope or expectation, she was the chance—now lost, a figurative opportunity for new life literally frozen on the sea.

  Flecks of copper dappled the rings of Oharassie’s eyes. Very close. Fear did not come.

  “I think I’ve spoken out of order,” he said.

  Nyra looked blurrily forward, not carin
g whether or not he elaborated or vanished forever into the shiny leaves.

  He cleared his throat. “You came this far, Nyra. Fighting off bad weather and escaping a Dragon Hawk. For Quay’s sake, you even endured the ramblings of an old-scale! I reckon you’d take on anything by the antlers at this point.”

  The spirits of her dreams took shape again: icy spiders scratching her open eyes. They watered.

  “Nyra, if you’ll indulge me, and you are good at that,” he added, “I was thinking that you might ask me a favor.”

  Her ears lifted. “Ask you a favor.” The question did not pipe up into a higher note in the way proper questions should.

  “Yes, of course!” He slapped the water. “It’s not a riddle, my dear, I’m not trying to trick you. Ask me the question.”

  Now she felt downright annoyed. And stupid—a deadly combination only Blaze could create.

  “I’ll die. I’ll die. And I’ll fail,” she muttered.

  “You’ll live. You’ll live. And if I have anything to do with it, you’ll succeed. Ready to swallow your pride yet? Or should I take Yahinuve’s advice and give you hints?”

  It hit her with such force that her head shot through the leafy curtains, reaching her nose a mere grass blade’s length away from the impossibly huge Aquadray, a face she’d regarded with trepidation, but in that moment, loving reliance.

  “Will you take me the rest of the way?” she asked.

  “Oh, I knew you were a bright young thing.” He laughed. “Yes.” And he closed the distance between them; an ocean pressed to a dewdrop.

  Chapter 12: To the Other Side

  On a morning not so distant from their agreement, Oharassie and Nyra saw the tree willows sinking beneath a warmer horizon. Again the world became blue blue blue, but at least now she wasn’t alone.

  Just as Oharassie had promised, fangs of wind lengthened northward, threatening bystanders with impending frost. But Nyra kept warm, wedging into the membranous folds between Oharassie’s dorsal spines, impervious to wind, spray, and whatever else might threaten to chill her bones. With Nyra shielded, Oharassie could move fast. Outside she heard whips and splashes, dimmed to a white noise that would lull her to sleep. Every few hours a great green nose would wedge through the folds, along with a blast of cool air. A plump fish would press to her flanks, and the folds resealed. There she napped and contemplated. In the mid afternoon he always slowed his pace, allowing the Agring to emerge and taste the fresh air at its warmest.