“Let’s get out of here,” Ythnel said, and they all jogged to the water’s edge.
“There are some old fishing boats beached along here,” Kohtakah offered. They moved along the bank, searching. It was hard to see in the darkness, but as they got closer, Kestus could make out the shape of a flat-bottomed skiff. There were no paddles, but Muctos found a couple of old planks lying nearby and tossed them in. Once everyone was aboard, Kestus pushed the boat out into the bay and hopped in.
CHAPTER 11
Out in the bay, the small craft and its occupants took the full brunt of the winter storm. Whipped by the fierce winds, the waves crashed over the sides of the boat until all four were soaked to the bone. The planks were quickly abandoned, and any hope of maneuvering through the tempest was lost. The group merely held onto the sides of the skiff for dear life. Tossed and turned about, Ythnel had no sense of where they were in the darkness.
The skiff suddenly rose on a cresting wave and was pitched over, tumbling the four into the chilling waters. Ythnel panicked, unable to tell which way was up, and let go of the breath she was holding. As the bubbles rose in front of her, she realized they would lead her back to the surface. She frantically kicked after them. She surged out of the depths with a gasp only to be pounded back under by another wave. Refusing to give up, Ythnel surfaced once more.
“Kestus—” Her shout was cut short as she swallowed a mouthful of water. She coughed it out and tried again. “Kestus! Muctos! Kohtakah! Anybody?” Ythnel squinted, hoping that something recognizable would materialize in the darkness. The gash in her arm stung from the salt water. Forcing herself to calm down, she whispered a prayer to Loviatar and touched the wound. The flesh wove itself back together, but Ythnel could feel a scar.
She returned to her scanning of the night. As she treaded water, surrounded by an unnerving silence, the waves rolling about her, Ythnel felt a terrifying sense of isolation creep into her heart. Panic began to rise again. She was out of her element and all alone.
“Kestus! Muctos!” This time, she thought she heard a voice calling and began to swim in the direction it came from. The cry sounded again, closer, and a large, dark shape appeared, drifting just ahead.
“Who’s there?” she called out uncertainly.
“It’s Muctos,” came the excited reply. Ythnel thought she saw a waving arm, but in the blackness of the storm, she was still too far away to be sure. With a few more strokes, Ythnel reached the dark shape, and discovered it was Muctos clinging to the overturned skiff.
“Where are the others?”
“I don’t know,” Muctos sputtered. Ythnel called out their names again, and Muctos joined her in the attempt to locate the others. The wind was dying down, and the rain had been reduced to a light drizzle. With the storm’s dissipation, the rolling swells were replaced by small whitecaps chopping the waters of the bay. The slow lightening of the sky signaled the approach of dawn. Ythnel scanned the horizon, hopeful to catch sight of their missing friends.
“Over there!” Muctos exclaimed and pointed off into the distance. “I think I see something. Kestus? Kohtakah?”
Ythnel looked where Muctos pointed. Someone was indeed swimming toward them. As the figure neared, Ythnel could make out the stern features of Kestus, his dark hair plastered against his scalp. The mage no longer had his cloak. Ythnel let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when he finally reached the skiff.
“Where’s … Kohtakah?” Kestus panted and leaned heavily against the side of the boat, trying to catch his breath.
“We haven’t seen him yet,” Ythnel answered.
Kestus nodded and said, “We need to get this boat turned back over.”
“How?” Muctos asked.
“We should just be able to flip up one side.”
They positioned themselves at the bow, middle, and stern. Together they heaved the edge up out of the water and tossed it away from them. With a small splash, the skiff was righted.
Ythnel swam over and pulled herself in, kicking to thrust herself high out of the water and over the side of the boat. She sat there for a second, exhausted but glad to be finally out of the water. An overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort swelled inside her, bringing her to the verge of tears. The boat rocked, startling Ythnel. She grabbed the sides of the skiff, bracing herself, when she realized it was only Kestus struggling to get in. With a deep breath, Ythnel calmed herself and moved to help him. Together, they dragged Muctos out of the water.
For a while, all three of them huddled quietly in the bottom of the boat, unable to do anything but shiver in the steady wind that blew across the bay. The clouds parted to reveal a bright winter sun that did little to warm them.
“We should look for Kohtakah,” Muctos said between chattering teeth.
Kestus shook his head. “If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s not going to,” he said in a subdued voice. Muctos opened his mouth, but Kestus cut off any protest. “He could be anywhere out there. It would be useless to try and search for him. I’m sorry.” Muctos frowned, clearly not pleased, but nodded. They continued to sit in silence, not willing to meet each others’ eyes.
“We can’t just sit here, or we’ll die of hypothermia,” Ythnel said finally. “We have to get moving. The only way we’ll get warm and dry is by our own body heat.”
“What do you suggest?” Muctos’s tone overflowed with sarcasm. “I don’t think running in place will work given our circumstances.”
“No, but we could paddle. We need to get to shore anyway.”
“And in what direction might that be?” Muctos’s question dripped with undisguised scorn.
“That’s enough, Muctos,” Kestus growled. The portly mage scowled back but kept his mouth shut.
“I can still see land that way,” Ythnel said, indicating a thin, dark line just visible on the horizon to their left. “From the position of the sun, I’d guess that’s where we came from.”
“Well, then, let’s start paddling back,” Muctos suggested.
“No,” Kestus grunted. “If we go back, we’ll risk recapture by the werecreatures or the Karanoks. We head east, to Mordulkin.”
“What? That will take days,” Muctos cried.
“Then we had better get started.” Kestus leaned over the side of the skiff and started paddling with his cupped hands.
Progress was slow. For every hour they paddled, it seemed as though they moved only a few yards. Even taking turns to rest, Ythnel’s arms quickly turned wooden, and feeling returned to her hands like a prickly fire only just before she had to dunk them back into the numbingly chill waters. By the end of the first day, Ythnel could see all of them were exhausted. They slept fitfully, huddled together at the bottom of the craft to protect themselves from the wind and share body heat.
Kohtakah was plunged into waters of the Bay of Chessenta like all the others as their little skiff was flipped by the raging sea. Unlike the others, though, he didn’t panic. Water was a second home to him. He was a werecrocodile, after all.
Shedding his robes, he reoriented himself and, with a few strong kicks, broke the surface in a spray. It was dark, and the storm still tossed waves about the bay violently. He could not see any of the others.
Something bumped against Kohtakah’s leg as he treaded water. A dark triangle broke the surface of the water ahead of him, and a sense of dread filled him. There were other predators besides crocodiles that inhabited the waters of the Bay of Chessenta, he knew. In his current form, he was extremely vulnerable to an attack. Fortunately, he had an alternate shape.
Kohtakah was born a werecrocodile, as many of his generation were. Unlike those who contracted the disease at some point in their lives, he had grown up with the ability. The years had given him mastery of the transformation. It didn’t make it any less painful, though.
As his body temperature rose, Kohtakah could feel the blood boiling in his veins. Bones snapped and reformed, tendons broke away and reattached as his body reshaped itself. Kohtakah moan
ed in response to the pain. It would be over soon, though.
Kohtakah screamed as the mild pain in his right leg became the excruciating sensation of a hundred knives puncturing his flesh. A sharp tug pulled him under water. His scream became a bubbling roar as the transformation completed.
Specialized lids closed protectively over each eye, turning his vision murky. He could still see that the lower half of his right, rear leg was missing and a cloud of red was slowly drifting away from the wound. The change had partially healed the damage so that he was no longer in immediate danger of bleeding to death, but there was enough blood in the water that the scent would attract more sharks, or at least bring his current attacker back for more. He needed to get away from there. With a powerful flick of his tail, he went in search of his companions and their boat.
A dark, blurry shape came hurtling out of the depths, its jaws snapping on the empty water Kohtakah had just passed through. He whipped around and clamped onto the shark’s tail as it passed, but the creature’s momentum allowed it to yank free. As it swam away, Kohtakah estimated the shark was easily seventeen feet long, nearly as big as he was.
Sensing something behind him, Kohtakah banked to the side. He was too slow, though, and a second shark slammed into him, its jaws closing on his back. His thick hide protected him from any serious damage, and Kohtakah thrashed his body to free himself, taking a few of the shark’s teeth with him.
He didn’t stop there. With a sharp turn, Kohtakah came around the side of the shark and bit down hard on the animal’s pectoral fin. His hold secure, he began to roll violently, twisting and tearing the shark’s flesh until the fin pulled away. Fresh blood clouded the water as the shark swam away, its flight erratic as it slowly and uncontrollably descended into the murk. Kohtakah knew he wouldn’t see it again.
That left its mate.
It came at Kohtakah head-on, its mouth open wide to reveal rows of serrated teeth several inches long. If he were still in humanoid form, he was sure the creature could easily have bitten him in half. As a crocodile, that was an entirely different matter.
Propelled by wide sweeps of his own tail, Kohtakah shot forward to meet the shark. At the last second, he angled up and grabbed the shark by the nose. His jaws locked in a death grip, Kohtakah spun once more, brutally shaking the shark until he felt the creature’s head separate from its body. He released the carcass then and watched it sink into the depths.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him, carrying with it the burning pain from his missing leg. Even in the water, he tired quickly in this form; the heavy muscles of the crocodile sapped his energy faster than his human muscles would. He surfaced, inhaling air through his scaly nostrils to fill his lungs. The storm was abating, and the surface of the bay had calmed considerably. The skiff, however, was still nowhere in sight.
Kohtakah floated for a bit, letting the current take him with only the occasional flick of his tail for guidance and forward motion. His leg throbbed painfully, but he relegated it to a back corner of his mind while he considered his options. He could bide his time until dawn and set his course using the location of the sun. The real question was where to go.
Adder Swamp was out of the question. Lord Mulkammu had seen him with the fleeing mages and declared him a traitor. If he ever showed his face there again, it would be his death.
He could set off for one of the human cities. It would be difficult at first. He had no food, no coin, and now no clothes, but he was sure his sorcerous abilities would quickly find him employment.
He didn’t relish the thought of being alone again, however. He remembered when he first came to Luthcheq, the isolation he felt. He recalled the fear and secrecy by which he had to live, not only because he was a werecreature amongst humans, but also because he was a wielder of the arcane who was seeking others who were the same. It was only after he had found the Mage Society that he once again felt as if he belonged.
That thought brought him to his third option. He could search for his friends. It was reassuring to think that he could still call them that. Kohtakah feared that they would consider it a betrayal when they learned he was a werecrocodile. He had been right, but somehow Kestus had overcome those initial feelings and welcomed him back.
Unfortunately, Kohtakah had no idea where the other three might be, or if they were even still alive. No, they live, he told himself, and if such were the case, that meant he had to try to find them.
His decision made, Kohtakah continued to drift, waiting for the sky to clear and the sun appear. The sky gradually brightened, and within a few hours, the sun was peeking over the horizon on Kohtakah’s left. Orienting himself by it, he began to swim south, searching, until he spotted the shore. Then he made a lazy turn east and headed north, back out into the bay until he could no longer see the thick line behind him that indicated land.
Kohtakah continued the search pattern the entire day, steadily moving eastward hour by hour. Finally, as the sun began to set, he spotted a dark blot on the horizon. The wind had picked up, chopping the waters of the bay into little whitecaps. He was tired and at the end of his strength, slowed enough by his wound and the battle with the sharks that he was unable to catch any of the fast game fish that swam in the bay. He was sure the blot was his friends in their skiff or at least some other small vessel, and he called on what energy he still had to propel himself through the water closer and closer.
Finally, he was near enough to see the object was indeed the skiff. Night had fallen, however, and he could not see anybody inside. He swam right up to the side of the boat and bumped it with his snout. It made a solid thump, and he heard something stirring. Not wanting to scare his companions, Kohtakah dipped below the water and transformed back into his human shape, the pain momentarily eclipsing that from his lost leg. When he resurfaced a few feet away, he saw Muctos sitting up, looking out across the water.
“Muctos,” he called, waving. “Over here.” He saw the mage turn toward him and heard him gasp.
“Kohtakah? Hey, it’s Kohtakah! Wake up.” Muctos bent down and shook someone. Kestus sat up, followed by Ythnel. They were all alive! Muctos pointed toward where Kohtakah bobbed.
“How did—” Kestus started to say but shook his head. “Are you all right? Can you swim over here?”
Kohtakah shook his head. “I’m hurt. I don’t think I have anything left.”
“Don’t worry. Hold on. We’ll come to you.” The three started paddling with their hands. Kohtakah could tell they were exhausted, and he felt honored that they would push themselves further on his behalf. When they reached him, they pulled him into the boat.
“Your leg?” Ythnel gasped as he came fully out of the water.
She directed them to quickly turn him over onto his back. She took the mangled stump in both hands and started to pray. A dark and unholy light radiated from Ythnel’s hand, and a momentary pang of fear raced through Kohtakah. Ythnel was a cleric of Loviatar, he remembered. Then a searing pain racked his body, and he stiffened. It was gone in a second, and he was left fully drained. He struggled to lift his head, unwilling to give in to sleep until he saw what was done. Ythnel removed her hands, the glow fading from them, and Kohtakah saw that the skin had closed over the open wound, leaving a fully healed knob just below his knee.
“Thank you,” he breathed, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
When they awoke it was midmorning, and land was nowhere in sight. Kestus judged the current had likely carried them farther out into the bay. Once again using the sun, they oriented themselves east and started paddling. Ythnel’s mouth was uncomfortably dry; her tongue felt heavy and swollen. She absently scooped a handful of water to her mouth, but spit it out before she swallowed. It was salt water, she reminded herself. They wouldn’t be able to drink any of it. Rain would be the only fresh water available to them, and from the clear sky, Ythnel didn’t think they would see any soon. The irony made her chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Muctos croaked from h
is resting place at the stern of the skiff.
“Nothing. I’m just thirsty.”
“It’ll get worse,” Kestus said quietly as he paddled on the starboard side. “Keep your mouths closed to conserve spit.” Ythnel nodded and went back to her own paddling.
There was still water as far as the eye could see when their third day in the boat began. Ythnel leaned against the side of the skiff, her arm hanging over the edge and into the water. Kestus sat across from her, staring into the east. Dark stubble had appeared on his face, and there was a hollow look in his eyes. The craft rocked gently in place; no one had the strength to paddle. Kohtakah seemed mostly healed from his encounter with the sharks, but the lack of water and food probably wasn’t helping with his recovery. She was worried about Muctos, as well. He had been restless through the night, a sign, Ythnel thought, that he may be succumbing to dehydration quicker than everyone else. Ythnel leaned over and shook the still-sleeping form of Muctos.
“Wake up.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Muctos stirred slightly and groaned, but he did not sit up.
“Let him lie,” Kestus muttered. “What’s the point, anyway? We’re going to die.”
“No,” Ythnel blurted out. The mage’s admission startled her, and she searched desperately for some way to prove him wrong. They had come this far, endured so much. She would not lose hope, not give up on Loviatar again. The dream Ythnel had in the swamp shoved its way to the front of her mind. She was sure it had been a message, another sign from the Maiden of Pain that she would endure through these trials. She had been promised revenge, and she meant to have it.
“I-I can purify water for us,” she said excitedly, suddenly remembering the spell she had used amongst the wererats.
“What would we hold it in?” Kestus sneered. “And what would we do for food? Water won’t provide the strength we need to keep paddling.”
“We have to at least try.” She turned to Muctos and yanked him up. The mage leaned against her, unable to support himself. “Muctos, I need you to scoop up some water with your hands.” She leaned him against the side of the boat and helped him raise his arms. “Please, Muctos. I can’t do this alone. I need you to hold the water. My hands have to be free to cast the spell. Please.” He sat there, unmoving, his arms dangling in the water. Kestus laughed softly.
Maiden of Pain: Forgotten Realms (The Priests) Page 18