Mystic: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “Only one,” said Xain. “Jordel is long behind us. We are fortunate in that, for he is more dangerous than the mentalist I vanquished. But I say again, let Loren speak.”

  “As we rode south in search of you, we saw an army near the road. Sellswords they were, though Jordel seemed to think most were Dulmun men. We found them north of Redbrook, but they marched west. The Mystic thought they made for Wellmont.”

  “I see,” said Xain. “So you fear their approach even now?”

  “I believe they mean to catch Wellmont unawares while it fights another foe from the south. I think they mean to raze it.”

  Brimlad scoffed again. “Or they might mean to force the city’s surrender. Surrounding a foe does not mean you wish to slaughter them all.”

  “Jordel thought—”

  “Mystics again!” snapped Brimlad. “Let them rot, I say. For if we don’t make the city, that is just what will happen to us.”

  Loren scowled and turned to Xain, hoping the wizard would believe her. He stood deep in thought, his eyes boring holes in the deck. All fell quiet as they watched him, until at last he noticed and looked up.

  “Whether they mean to raze the city or not, it would not do well to remain within,” said Xain. “For whether their archers mean to kill us, they will fire arrows still. A stray shaft is deadly no matter its intent. We must gain the city or perish, but quickly we shall leave it.”

  “Agreed,” said Loren. “And thank you.”

  “You lot may do what you wish once inside,” said Brimlad. “But the city comes first.”

  Brimlad steered his boat to the riverbank, where they disembarked and traveled west. Before much walking, they saw the blockade, a small flotilla of four ships laying anchor across the river, each lashed to the next, flying the red-and-yellow banner of Dorsea.

  “’Tis well we did not sail into their jaws,” said Brimlad, quiet although the ships were miles away yet. “They are not likely to ask many questions before they make a pincushion of you.”

  “Fortunate indeed,” said Xain. “Though it would make more sense to call ourselves lucky if we were not starving.”

  “If we go west a ways more, we shall find Wellmont’s northern gate,” said Brimlad. “There they may let us in.”

  Xain shook his head. “Or shoot us. They will be no more trusting than the Dorsean blockade.”

  “We could sneak in,” Loren offered. “Under cover of darkness, slipping over the walls.”

  “So says the Nightblade,” Gem scoffed. “But have you a grappling hook? Have you even a rope? Mayhap you and I could scale the walls, but not these others, and certainly not while guards are no doubt watching.”

  “The boy speaks truth,” said Xain. “I doubt I could climb a staircase just now, much less a city wall, tall and strong.”

  “What if I present myself to the guards?” Annis suggested. “They are not likely to shoot a girl on sight, and with my family’s name we may gain entry.”

  “The family of Yerrin has never been well liked in Wellmont and will be less so now, considering the trade your kin ply within Dorsea,” said Brimlad.

  “We are merchants, not warriors,” said Annis.

  “And twice as deadly.”

  “Perhaps we could ask him,” suggested Gem.

  Loren turned to ask what Gem meant, and then she saw it. A small creature, crouched on all fours down by the bank. Its eyes were huge and bulbous and close to white. Pale and clammy was its skin, with thin webbing stretched between its fingers. It wore a close-fitting jerkin of what looked like snakeskin but with larger scales than any serpent Loren had ever seen; its breeches were the same.

  Brimlad sharply inhaled. “A wurt! Be off, you little creature!”

  The wurt scuttled back but did not run. Quickly it blinked—a thin film of transparent skin sliding over the eyes before it was gone.

  Loren stared at the creature. “A wurt? I have heard of them only in children’s tales.”

  “Oh, they are real and slimy as any watersnake,” said Brimlad.

  “It has a fish!” said Annis.

  The thing clutched a fish the size of Gem’s arm. It lay still in its webbed fingers, dead or stunned. Loren’s mouth became a sea of saliva.

  “Hello there!” Gem skipped lightly towards the wurt, hands outstretched. “Never a more beautiful creature have I seen in my life, o fair wurt, or whatever you call yourself!”

  The wurt turned and disappeared underwater. Gem skidded to a halt on the riverbank, shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “It is for the best, boy,” Brimlad growled. “Slimy, untrustworthy thieves, the lot of them.”

  “How can you be so cruel to the poor thing?” Annis’s voice climbed in register as she glared up at Brimlad. “It came here to help us.”

  “Oh it did, eh? It told you that?” Brimlad folded his arms. “Mayhap I trust my own experience, whelp. Wurts find boats plying good, honest trade and make off with whatever they can. Nasty, slippery little insects. You would do well—”

  He fell silent as the river’s surface burst upwards in a splash. Something silver sparkled in the air, and then the fish flopped upon the ground at Gem’s feet. He snatched it like a prize and waved it in the air.

  “A fish! He brought me a fish!” Gem crowed.

  Annis turned back to Brimlad, eyes alight. “You had words, I believe, Captain?”

  Brimlad glared at the girl.

  “Look. He is watching us.” Loren pointed to the river, and the others turned to see. The wurt’s head poked slightly out of the water, large eyes peering at them unblinking.

  “Be off!” cried Brimlad, waving his hands. “You have left us your fish, though I am quite sure it be poisoned. On your way!”

  “Brimlad,” barked Xain. “Leave the thing be. It does us no harm.”

  “Not yet,” he muttered.

  Loren walked slowly down to the river’s edge and stood beside Gem. She knelt by the water, holding her hands where the wurt could clearly see them. She had enough experience approaching forest animals to comport herself correctly: no sudden motions, no loud noises.

  “Hello,” she said softly. “Can you understand us?”

  The wurt’s head rose farther from the water. Loren could see that it kept itself in place by paddling against the current. Slowly it nodded, and its lips parted to show a wide row of sharp teeth. “Yes. Bubble speaks well to men.”

  Loren blinked and looked back at Brimlad. The captain scoffed.

  Turning back, Loren kept her eyes on the wurt. “Bubble? Is that your name?”

  “It is what men can call me,” said the wurt.

  “Well, Bubble, we thank you for the fish. What can we do to repay you?”

  The wurt’s head turned slightly to the side, an eye trained on Loren. “Bubble does not know this word: repay.”

  “You have done something for us. Can we do something for you? To make things fair.”

  “Bubble also does not know this word. But you cannot do anything for Bubble. Bubble needs nothing. He is not hungry.”

  As he spoke, the wurt paddled gently through the water to the shore. Then he stood in the shallows, sunlight gleaming off his clothing’s scales. Now so close, Loren could see that the wurt stood hands shorter than she and was barely taller than Gem. Bubble’s eyes darted to the boy, who was still clutching the fish.

  “You are hungry,” said Bubble. “Why do you not eat?”

  Loren looked at Gem and thought she understood. “We are very hungry, Bubble. Do you have more fish? We will trade for them, if we have anything you find valuable.”

  “Do not bother,” growled Brimlad. “He probably stole it.”

  The wurt’s eyes turned to Brimlad. “Bubble did not take from men. Bubble is quick in the water. Watch him.”

  He turned and leapt into the current, vanishing with nary a splash. Loren straightened, fearing the wurt had run off, but he broke the water’s surface in no time, clutching a thrashing fish only slightly smaller than Gem�
��s. With a flick of his arm, Bubble slammed its head into a rock. Cautiously, the wurt stepped forwards and placed it in Loren’s outstretched hand.

  “See. Bubble can catch. He does not take fish from men.”

  “Thank you, Bubble, again.” Loren turned and gave the second fish to Gem, who stared at his prizes as if they were gold.

  She paused, expecting Bubble to say something else. He merely stared, thin film blinking across his eyes every so often. Soon, the silence grew awkward.

  Loren cleared her throat. “Well, Bubble, if we cannot offer you anything in return, perhaps we could ask you a question. Do you know the city that lies just up this river?”

  Bubble nodded. “Humans call it Wellmont. We have another name for it, but your tongues cannot say.”

  “Wellmont, yes,” said Loren, nodding. “We need to enter the city. Do you know a way in?”

  “What would he know? The city never lets the wurts in, not with their reputation.”

  Loren rounded on Brimlad. “A captain you may be on your vessel, but we are no longer there,” she snapped. “Unless you have a better idea, remain silent, and stop insulting the one who just gave us our first food in days.”

  Brimlad’s eyebrows drew closer together, and his mouth twisted. But he remained silent, and Loren turned back to find that Bubble had vanished. Far out into the water, she saw his eyes poking out.

  “Come back,” she said. “I am sorry. I will not become angry again.”

  The wurt slowly swam back and smiled at Loren as he emerged from the water.

  “Bubble knows a way into the city. Their large water door. Bubble can swim beneath it. You cannot alone, but he will help you. Come.”

  “Right now?” said Loren in surprise.

  “Not now. Bubble must make things ready. You will wait, but not here where the men in their ships will see you. Bubble will take you somewhere safe.”

  “Thank you, Bubble,” said Loren. “My name is Loren, of the family Nelda.”

  “Loren,” said Bubble. “I like my name better.”

  seventeen

  BEFORE THEY COULD FOLLOW BUBBLE, Brimlad told them he meant to depart. They all protested—Xain more ardently than Annis or Loren—but the captain was adamant.

  “I have no use for wurts and believe you are fools to trifle with them,” he declared. “But who knows? Mayhap the little beast can get you into the city after all. But my journey is over. I will not allow my boat to sit and rot on the shore and would have precious little to do within the city. I must return to my trade.”

  “How will you return to Redbrook?” said Xain. “The Mystic and her ship lie along the way.”

  “Aye, but marooned,” said Brimlad. “What will they do if I pass them by? The river’s more than wide enough to keep me safe from arrows. Besides, they have likely moved on by now. The Mystic girl seems not the sort to surrender a chase.”

  “What will you do for food?” said Xain. “At least come with us to get provisions.”

  “I shall take those two fish the wurt gave you, for starters,” said Brimlad gruffly. “And I will consider it cheap fare for this journey, which has been fraught with far more peril than you told me.”

  Xain gave him the fish without hesitation, and Loren gently asked Bubble if he would mind fetching some more. In less than an hour, the wurt had caught more than a dozen. They cooked one to sate the strongest pangs of their hunger, kept another for later, and gave the rest to Brimlad.

  Thus, just as noon passed, they sent the captain off and wished him safe voyage down the river. Gem waved hardest and did not stop until the captain had nearly vanished from sight. Annis seemed less sorry to see him go.

  “I think he was mean,” she said, glancing over at Bubble. “And I am glad he is gone.”

  “He risked his life for us, and his ship, which he values even more highly,” Xain said. “If he did not laugh and sing bawdy songs all the while, remember that he was a simple tradesman before we were met. And if he has no love for wurts, remember that you have not lived his life.”

  Annis folded her arms. “Still, Bubble brought us food. Brimlad had no call to be so rude, and I think he is wrong about wurts. Just look at him. Such creatures could offer no harm even if they do lighten a fisherman’s load every so often.”

  Loren saw Xain’s nostrils flare, and so she spoke before disagreement soured to argument. “In any case, it is over and done. I am sure we are all grateful to the captain for helping us reach Wellmont. Now we must look to our next step.”

  Bubble had waited for them to see Brimlad off, lurking in the shallows upstream. Now as they approached, the wurt stood and pointed. Barely more than a span upriver, Loren saw another waterway split off. The smaller stream poured down from the faraway mountains, lending its strength to the Dragon’s Tail.

  “That way is Bubble’s home,” said the wurt. “There live Bubble’s people. We will not go to them—they are afraid of men. But we will come close, and there you will wait while Bubble makes ready to take you into the city of men.”

  They began their slow trek along the riverbank, Bubble swimming effortlessly through the water beside them. The wurt moved without a ripple. Often, he would swim far ahead only to double back like a dog leading its master. Sometimes, he would swim on his back, letting his clothing glisten in the sun. Other times, he would swim facedown, and Loren saw that the back of his shirt and breeches were not scales but a brown material that looked like leather.

  When she remarked upon it to Xain, the wizard seemed distracted, as if she had pulled him from a distant dream. When she asked again, he nodded.

  “The scales gleam even in very little light. When fish see the wurt from below, they think his scales are part of the sky. The leather upon his back, however, looks like dirt from above. In this way, the wurts hide themselves from both hunters and prey.”

  “You know of these creatures, then?” Gem said in surprise.

  “They are not creatures,” said Annis.

  “We are all creatures.” Gem gave her a contemptuous shrug.

  “I have heard only stories,” said Xain. “Some from Brimlad—those are less than pleasant. But many others I have heard from sailors and rivermen. Not all view the wurts with such distrust. ’Tis true, though, that the wurts are not allowed within the cities. At least not in Selvan.”

  “Do they live in all the nine lands?” said Annis.

  “Many, but not all,” said Xain. “Idris lies too far south, where most of the rivers are covered in ice. But wurts are plentiful in the north, for the water is warm and the air even warmer. They do not love the cold, apart from the cool of deep waters near the riverbed. Nor do they love the ocean, for they cannot breathe the saltwater.”

  “Breathe . . . water?” said Gem. “I do not understand. Is this some kind of magic?”

  “If so, it has been a part of them for years beyond counting. They do not enchant themselves nor count wizards amongst them.”

  Soon, they reached the place where the tributary joined the river, and Bubble led them up it. The land grew wooded and quiet. Behind the trees, they lost sight of the smoky cloud that darkened the southern horizon. Their steps became lighter and their hearts less heavy. Soon, Annis and Gem found speed in their words, asking Xain one question after another, all about the wurts. The wizard did not know the answers to many and grew quickly irritated. Loren watched him with unease, seeing the way he used his right hand to pick at his opposite elbow—a nervous tic she had never noticed before. His cheeks were gaunt as ever; his eyes seemed to grow more sunken every day.

  He will recover with rest and food, Loren told herself. But a shadow that she could not banish covered her heart.

  Soon, Bubble emerged from the stream and bade them to stop. “You will wait here. Bubble will fetch one to help make things ready. Wait.”

  He returned to the water and vanished from sight. The day was pleasant in the shade, and finding themselves on a grassy knoll, they cast themselves upon the ground to awa
it the wurt’s return. Loren cleaned their second fish. They had suffered many long days of starvation, and the first had been eaten in barely a blink.

  “I hope Bubble will keep fetching us fish.” Gem crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his hands under his head, looking at ease for the first time in days.

  “He is not your trained hound,” said Loren. “Treat him with respect. Without his help, we will never enter the city’s gate and might well starve.”

  “Why do you suppose he wishes to help us, in any case?” Gem said, ignoring Loren. “He could have left us sitting on that riverbank and spared himself Brimlad’s ire.”

  “Kind hearts and willing hands may be found across the nine lands,” said Xain, almost to himself. “And often in the unlikeliest of places.”

  It had the sound of a saying, and Loren looked at the wizard with interest. But Xain stared off into the darkness beneath the trees. His right hand plucked at the other elbow—pick, pick.

  Loren thought they might have to wait a while for Bubble’s return, but a slight splash came before long. He was not alone. From the water beside him emerged a second wurt. This one looked almost the same as Bubble but half a hand shorter. The new wurt stared at them with unblinking eyes and did not follow Bubble up the riverbank towards them.

  “Bubble has brought his brother, Stream. He does not speak with men or know your words.”

  “Hello,” said Loren, inclining her head towards the wurt. “Can you tell him we are thankful for his help?”

  Bubble turned, and from his mouth issued a series of high, melodic whines. They hung on the air, haunting and beautiful, with slight sibilance scattered amongst the noise. Stream blinked his curious wurt blink, but turned and said nothing.

  “What is your plan, then, wurt?” Xain stood and came beside Loren. Bubble crouched on all fours and leapt back, looking like nothing so much as a frog. Stream flung himself back into the river, where in a moment his eyes popped above the surface to observe.