The Waters of Nyra- Volume I

by Kelly Michelle Baker

  “Hold on!” called Oharassie.

  Before Nyra could duck beneath his membranes, the Aquadray burst forth, shattering the water like glass. The ocean thundered on his chest and the pressure reverberated into Nyra’s bones. Before her eyes, Garrionom transformed from distant pale blue to detailed mahogany. In fast motion this wonder met her, presenting myriad cliffs so much like the ones she’d called home.

  Oharassie slowed and craned around to her, his body rocking closer to the towering cliffs. “Too sudden?” he asked.

  “No fair warning.” Nyra felt faint, her attention lost somewhere over a distant peak, which ripped the sky in spiky black and shining white. White. White everywhere.

  “Snow never ceases to amaze me,” Oharassie said. “We get flecks of it at sea here and there, but not much. And it of course doesn’t accumulate, unless you count a chance iceberg, but that’s not the same thing.”

  His words were fuzzy to Nyra, as though passing through the distorted comprehension of sleep. Nyra wanted to listen, but the impossible mountains turned his words to wet cotton.

  “Now, anything you want to ask before we exchange goodbyes?”

  “Goodbyes?” she murmured.

  “Yes. Are you ready?”

  Her heart flittered. “Goodbyes?” she shouted.

  “Well, I should hope so,” he said, dropping his spines in mock offense. “You wouldn’t leave me without some parting pleasantries?”

  “No, no, it’s not that.” Her eyes had crossed a little. She shook her head. “It’s just… we’re here! And I wasn’t expecting it. I thought it would take longer.”

  “My fault, I’d say. You can never tell with the weather. Plus my memory of checkpoints isn’t what it used to be. Hard to say when we’d get here. But it had to happen sometime.”

  “Yes. But…”

  “But?” he interjected.

  “There’s so, so much I still need to know,” she blurted. “W-will this be the right herd? The one from history? Where exactly are we in—”

  “Slow down, my dear.”

  For the first time his ‘my dear’ struck a chord. It was reminiscent of Thaydra’s ‘my darlings.’ Nyra calmed at the thought.

  “We are here,” she restarted. “But how do you know this is the right place? Do the Zealers live here? And are they the right Zealers? I need that one specific colony.” She wished she’d remembered the name of the herd. Had Fuhorn ever said the name?

  “As far as I know, this is the only group on the coast for a great distance. Zealers aren’t like Agrings, they don’t depend on fish for their diet. Most colonies live inland.”

  Nyra groaned skeptically.

  “Look at the mountains.”

  Everything ahead cracked up the skyline. Furthest were two towering peaks. In the middle was a dip out of sight, presumably the wide basin Oharassie had described. With his nose he pointed.

  “You see where the basin should be?”

  “Maybe,” she admitted. “We’re too close. The cliff’s in the way. But it’s a frozen lake?”

  “Yes. Frozen water, and beneath it liquid, locked in a glacial cup. The Zealers use it. Like you, the Zealers don’t need water regularly to survive. But for the sake of convenience, they live near water. It’s their ‘Reservoir,’ to put it in your terms. If your ancestors met Zealers, these are surely the ones.”

  “But what if they aren’t?”

  “They are.”

  “Maybe you should wait for me. In case I can’t find them?” The idea offered as much appeal as it did dread. On one claw, she wouldn’t have to face the Zealers if she couldn’t find them (saving responsibility for another day, a more confident day). On the other, she wouldn’t get to face them. Another problem unsolved, not a blade closer to her journey’s unknown conclusion.

  “They’re there, my dear. Remember me saying that they were proud? Don’t take it as bad news. It’s going to help you. Since they are protective of their territory they’ll be on the lookout. They’ll see you coming in. I’d even wager that they see us now.”

  Nyra leaned forward, trying to spot dragons. All she could see was the cliff face. A memory resurfaced from her month at the Green Spot where she’d watched little specks fall almost invisibly to the sea, with larger ones looming above.

  “You are going to make it.”

  “I don’t know,” she sighed.

  Oharassie rolled his head. “Alright. If it makes you feel better, I’ll be waiting here for the rest of the day. Right in this spot.” He slapped a flipper for emphasis. Only then did Nyra notice he’d stopped moving forward. She now had to crane upward to see the clifftop. They were as close as they could get.

  “If you don’t find anyone, come back to me. We’ll figure something else out.”

  Her eyes traced the mosaic rock, so much like home. Most of everything else was hidden by snow and ice: a masquerade of miniature glaciers.

  “Nyra,” he crooned, “it’s going to work on the first try. I promise. I’ll stay here for your sanity’s sake, but you worry in vain. My staying is only a formality.”

  Nyra could hear wind up above. It sounded cold.

  “So,” she swallowed, “I go now then?”

  “May as well. There’s still a lot of daylight left to go looking for them, but there’s not much use hanging out with me.” Oharassie looked up. “And the sooner you get there, the sooner you get into a warm cave.”

  A cool breeze flapped her ears on cue. Standing up, Nyra opened her wings one at a time, watching each tip stretch to its full length. Beside her Oharassie’s dorsal spines flattened to allow her space. She watched the tines fall in unison, the membranes folding neatly to hug a body enormous under the waves, much like the icebergs of his stories.

  He had been her favorite friend in the vast sea. In her life now, he was a savior, and if anything she owed it to him to make the first steps towards the Zealer Dragons.

  “One more thing?” she said.

  “Anything.” Oharassie beamed.

  “I feel, well, stupid asking this.”

  “Stupid?” he prompted.

  “Well, what I mean… what I mean is, I think I’m overwhelmed. And it’s making me think about random things.”

  “You have a right to be overwhelmed. What is your question?”

  “Well,” she averted her eyes. “That first day when I was flying above you. The day we met. You said that you could have eaten me if you wanted to. I didn’t believe you. Or, I didn’t know if I believed you.”

  Oharassie looked confused. Nyra continued.

  “You said you couldn’t go on land so I wouldn’t be scared when I landed on an island. I suppose that’s true. Though it didn’t matter in the end, because you herded me towards the willows. Not an island.” She was rambling, yet Oharassie was patient. “But you said you could have eaten me at any time, and I took it to mean that you could jump up and snatch me from the air, even at my highest point. Did you mean it?”

  Oharassie flicked his tongue, and his brow furrowed.

  “It is true that I was trying to gain your trust,” he said. “Still, if I’d been desperately hungry, I could have taken you from the sky.” He frowned. She feared he was offended. To recall a time that she did not trust him, that she did not love him, was a thorn in her heart. Still the curiosity nagged away, despite her guilt, despite his crestfallen face. She wanted to know where truth and lie parted ways, just as she and Oharassie were to part ways at the great mountains ahead.

  “Could you do it?” She hated herself. “Could you jump that high and show me?”

  He looked ancient. “You’d really make me muster up these old bones to prove it?”

  She nodded.

  But then he laughed the laugh she knew. “See here, now, Nyra, I’ve just crossed an ocean. Being burdened by a beating heart, you think I might be just a tad exhausted? A tad sleepy?” He grinned widely. The grin was infectious. Nyra matched it.

  “You are quite the spitfire, my dear. Alwa
ys the skeptic, maybe a lot like me in my younger days. Ha!” He tossed his head back. Nyra flailed to keep balance. “Well then, younger me, let us make a deal. As promised, I’ll stay here for the rest of the day. To humor you, and all that. But should we meet again, and I think we will, I’ll bring myself from the waters for you.”

  Her throat tightened.

  “Should I not be too tired of course,” he added. “Sound lovely?”

  Nyra could fathom no contradiction. No loopholes, no questions, just the wall of promise. Distant winds serenaded on the mountains, and a great gust of white powder furled over the cliff edge.

  “Lovely.”

  The Aquadray brought his nose to hers.

  “Show them the way, my dear. Make it home again.”

  Chapter 13: Da Capo al Coda

  Had Nyra known the facets of her home cliff in detail, the image before her may have simulated looking in a mirror. Back home, the mosaic rock spired to a flat top, as evident by variations of hardened and sandy surfaces seen by the Fishers. Their descriptions were all she had. The only time Nyra had come close to the cliff face was the night she plummeted into exile. Through the veils of darkness and terror, she’d observed nothing. And of course she'd seen little from the Green Spot—the cliffs had been too far away. Here at the Garrionom cliffs, the sand and rock she’d imagined were mashed together, though dashes of white gave an eerie aura to the place.

  She landed on top and met dampened grass. Ground. Real ground. And grass for that matter, not the dead leaves and moist sand of islands or the bark of sea willows. Grass. The bridge of her muzzle smarted and her eyes winced under a fresh surge of sentiment.

  Ahead lay the white basin, framed between the craggily jet and purple mountains, matted in ivory powder. Nyra did not know how to be awed. She’d heard of the mountains in the heart of Nyra (the continent), where unfathomable heaps of rocks monopolized the heavens. They monopolized arguments, too. How large could they be, really? And where did the line of exaggeration trace across the peaks? Seeing them in real time, Nyra realized she had dreamed up something much, much taller. Comparatively, these were dwarves. Yet they possessed dimension and detail far outside the scope of her mental pictures. Shards of stone erupted from white fabric which draped snuggly over everything.

  She walked on, finding her feet like an old friend. Flying would have been faster, but she wanted pace now, to be slow, to not worry about making good time. Don’t make a spectacle. Let them have time to see me. A grounded dragon didn’t look quite so threatening. Did it? She grappled with the thought, hearing the squish of wet grass turn to crunching snow. Cold drove her feet faster, keeping them in the air as much as possible as they rose up to her contorted face.

  So much for a slow pace.

  There were no specks on the land, mulling about as they did on the Northern Coast. Just her. Somewhere in the far west birds called, exotic sounds with stretching notes.

  “Hello?” she said. Maybe the Zealers were all inside. Unless there was a sentry, they would never see her. Was their cave entrance obvious? What would happen if she walked right in?

  “Hello?” she called louder. The snow brushed her ankles as she turned to look behind. The cliff edge was a fair distance off, her initial footprints too far to see. The ocean was no longer visible, suggesting the ground had dipped downward. Somewhere behind and below, Oharassie was waiting.

  Turn back, said the draggling in her head, a cold little thing on the brink of shivers.

  Nice try, said the dragon. She faced the mountains again.

  How long would it be until she got to the basin? It looked far, but how far was the question. Compared to home, Nyra estimated it was about three times the distance between the Agring Warren and Fitzer’s Reservoir. Better make it four to be safe, she thought. Always better to over-estimate, then you won’t be disappointed.

  She spread out her wings and flapped up and down, signaling to anyone who might be watching. She regretted it immediately as a gust of wind crumpled her body, white droplets flicking her flanks. A sharp hiss escaped her mouth, which she promptly shut as her tongue met the air. Oharassie’s back had been so, so warm. His spines had blocked out the sea mist. She figured they could block out snow gusts, too.

  What was the distance again? Four trips to the Reservoir was too far. Was it three by now? Thinking about it made her more exhausted.

  She groaned. “You Zealers better get here. I’m getting cold.” Her throat pulsated. How many seconds had gone by?

  “Oharassie, I may be coming back to you,” she chattered. There was simply nothing out here, and if there was, it didn’t want to see her. Even if she did make it all the way to the basin, there’d be the long trip back if nothing was found. Twice the distance. She snorted, punching the cold air. The wind punched back.

  I can always try again tomorrow. Try a different time of day, when the Zealers were hunting. Or if they watched her now, hiding out of sight, maybe they just needed time to get used to her presence. By the next day, or even a few days if necessary, they’d feel secure enough for a formal greeting.

  That was that. Nyra pivoted around, back to Oharassie.

  “Back I go—”

  Something slammed her ribs inward. Her torso flew up as her head lashed downward. She braced for her chin to slam the ground. It didn’t.

  Her stomach rolled.

  She could see the ocean.

  The air. She was in the air again. Only her wings were bound tight, grinding against her constricted rib cage. The breath she inhaled squeezed painfully in her chest.

  Digits as thick as her forelegs wrapped around her, curling up into trunk-like appendages. White claws threatened to puncture her flesh, and above a light blue mass shimmered like a chunk of sky. The most terrifying sky she'd ever known, and it was whisking her towards the basin.

  This is what she saw, this was all she registered, before the outside became the inside, frigid turned to less frigid, and the cold yellow suns snapped out. The inky blackness of a moonless night blew up around her. A second passed, and then stars burst into a never-ending chandelier of glowing teal stones.

  The Zealer Stone, multiplied into a million pieces, imbedded behind every rock, every crevice, wedged into the walls, ground and ceiling. Imprisoned celestial bodies, trapped, suffocating.

  Blurs of silver and light blue whirled past. They were large things, bulky and erect, spinning as she breezed by. And as this happened a cornucopia of gasps echoed everywhere. High gasps, low gasps, some that exclaimed words Nyra could not understand.

  Then the path opened, and Nyra knew she had been traveling through a narrow tunnel, narrow only compared to the immensity before her. Nyra found herself at the center of the cave to end all caves, a world in itself. For though the mountains could not conquer her imagination, the wonder below, above, and before her was unlike anything she’d ever dreamed. The stones dotted the walls, marking the surface up and up and down and down until each blended into the next in a far away haze.

  Nyra screamed.

  Before the echoes could return she was veered right. The walls narrowed to another tunnel.

  The thing holding her thudded to the rocky ground. The beast above was made of points. Up the claws and limbs, adorned in icy silver armor with edges petite as pine needles. The wings were black like an Agring, only much, much larger. Larger than Darkmoon’s. The body was more bulky than her own yet more slender than a Sperk. The tail too was ornamented, its end resembling a conifer with only a few thick branches.

  But strange as all these traits were, none were so extraordinary as the head craning up towards the ceiling. Though Fuhorn had redundantly spoken of the face plate, Nyra could never have pictured anything so jarring. Just above the eyes was a shiny plate, spiked on each side, and flatter than level ground, all armored, all frightening. It had horns too, sharp and as long as its ears.

  “Thought you’d never end your shift,” came a voice from behind in a fluid accent. It took all of Nyra’s
concentration to pick up the words. “I was just about to….”

  A gasp issued.

  “Mortal Roendon, is that a…”

  “A moment, Sigeen.” It was the Zealer holding Nyra down. “Restrain her, I’ll inform the Royals.”

  The first Zealer to speak, Sigeen, appeared. It was darker than her capturer, and younger judging by its voice. In a flash, the light blue Zealer released Nyra and bounded down the tunnel ahead. Her wings creaked as she peeled them away from her stinging body.

  “Close them,” hissed Sigeen. Her wings ground together as the pressure around he remounted, pushing her head to the ground. Like Blaze the day Darkmoon caught him.

  Ahead were voices. Nyra managed to wriggle an ear free from the Zealer’s toes. They were angry voices. Muffled by distance and accent, she caught little. She recognized the voice of her capturer, murmuring worriedly. Another voice interjected, one of command. It was alarmed, shocked, or surprised, maybe all three. The words were composed, but with an edgy twinge of hostility.

  “No, no, it’s female. And a young one,” said her capturer. At least, that’s what it sounded like. Her trembling made it hard to hear.

  “Right outside?” said the authoritative voice.

  “With Sigeen, Royal Zirus.”

  The light blue Zealer returned. Behind it came another. At first Nyra thought she was looking at a smattering of icicles. While Sigeen and her capturer were only white on their plates, spikes and claws, the new creature was white all over its body. Every facet gleamed like a glacier, turning from teal to white to black between shadows and light. It was magnificent, a moving island of a million rainbows, so unlike anything that for a second she forgot her fear. Two red eyes shined more brightly than its faceplate. Surely this was the beast with the authoritative voice, the Royal Zirus.

  Nyra choked audibly. All plated faces turned towards her.

  “How young is …” came a doe’s voice, trailing off as she came into view. Galloping to the side of the Royal Zirus was another Zealer, slightly smaller and less striking, but formidable all the same. She was blue like the rest of them, though her high head implied chief status. She, too, had to be a Royal.