by J. M. Lee
Tavra’s cheeks colored, and she pinched her lips once. Clearly, she hadn’t meant Bellanji.
“Surely you’re needed here in the glen,” she said. “Gurjin’s sister—”
“Is still in training. I’ll go with you, Silverling. We’ll see how sure the Court of Ha’rar is about Gurjin once a Drenchen steps foot in with some real hard-talk. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
Her father was so determined, he looked ready to grab his spear and leave for the home of the Gelfling All-Maudra that very instant, every hair on his body quivering with indignation. Laesid, though, didn’t stop him. At least, not yet. She was still tapping her finger against her lips, deep in thought as she considered Tavra’s face. Naia had to admit, the silver-haired soldier from Ha’rar didn’t have a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Whether or not it was the truth, she certainly believed what she had claimed. Even Bellanji’s ranting could not shake her.
“Yes, in fact,” Laesid said finally. “Yes. Bellanji, on the morn, you’ll go to Ha’rar and meet with the All-Maudra herself. We’ll straighten this out in a civilized way . . . no need for sneaking about and sending mysterious visitors to investigate in the dark of the night.”
Just as Tavra opened her mouth to protest again, Laesid continued, “Naia, you’ll go with your father.”
Naia straightened, hands clutching her knees, heart racing with both surprise and excitement.
“I will?”
“It’s about time you left Sog, and this will be a good time to do it. You’ll go with your father and see how they do things in Ha’rar.” Laesid’s voice dropped a bit lower, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “There’s a thorny nettle growing. Between the castle and the Skeksis, tangling with the All-Maudra and the Gelfling race. As it grows thicker, we in the outreaches of the Skarith Land will need to be more familiar with those that rule us.”
Bellanji huffed a ring of smoke and put up his pipe with an unruly clatter.
“Great,” Bellanji said. “A final saying. Naia, we leave as the Great Sun rises. I’m off to bed.”
He thumped his chest once with a fist and let out a big brrrrruuupp as he left. The odor carried throughout the room, and Tavra wrinkled her nose when he was gone, turning her attention back to Laesid.
“Maudra, I will accompany your daughter and husband to Ha’rar.”
“Aughra bless, I’m sure you will,” Laesid replied, a dubious arched brow making it clear where her trust was. “At the least, it’s a way to shoo you from my sight. Get to bed and rest well. You leave in the morning, and with you goes any and all words against my son. Do you understand?”
“I may keep my lips sealed, but the truth garners singers wherever it goes,” Tavra said. She stood. “Still, I thank you for your lenience. I will endeavor to escort your husband to the All-Maudra so he may make his case at Gurjin’s trial, if that is what you wish. I don’t guarantee its effectiveness, however.”
Naia bunched up her fists at the irreverence in the Vapra’s voice, but as she had all through the meeting, she held her tongue. It didn’t feel good, but she knew it was the adult way and suffered through it.
Laesid shrugged and waved a hand, unaffected by the Vapra’s haughty tone.
“I don’t need your guarantee on anything, Tavra of Ha’rar, except one: that you’ll get out of my swamp as soon as there’s light enough to show you the way.”
Chapter 4
Naia awoke early the next morning. After splashing her face with cool water from the basin outside her window, she pulled on a light tunic and tucked two bola in her belt. Lastly, she opened a small leather pouch that rested on her single carved shelf. It was a gift from Gurjin, something he’d brought back for her the first time he’d returned after his appointment at the Castle of the Crystal: a small dagger with a blade of real metal. Inset in the sterling hilt was a polished river rock, black as night and so shiny, she could see her reflection in it. Metals were hard to come by in Sog, though Gurjin had often told her of the many gleaming ornaments and fixtures that adorned the castle. It was the only thing he’d ever brought her, aside from all the stories that filled her with wanderlust, and what was she to use it for? Hunting in the swamp was long-distance stuff with no place for knives. But Naia had kept it, anyway, as a reminder of her brother and their shared—if separate—responsibilities.
She tried not to let bitterness cloud her memories. It was still left to be seen what had become of him, and for all she knew, he could be in danger. She could only hope he hadn’t wasted the freedom she’d never had the opportunity to receive. Repeating this to herself, she tucked the dagger in her belt.
Naia smoothed Neech’s quills and said a quiet good-bye to her chamber before ducking out the window and skipping along the walking-ropes to the edge of the glen. There she waited for her father and Tavra with anxious, excited flutterings in her stomach. Would she get to stand before the All-Maudra in Ha’rar while her father made his case? Would they meet Gurjin somewhere along the way and have the chance to prove Tavra wrong before they even reached the home of the Gelfling All-Maudra?
Would she see the wide, endless ocean?
It didn’t seem Tavra had slept much. Dark shadows wallowed under her eyes when she appeared, her ears drooped to the side, and her hair was tied in a loose braid that was fraying and frizzing in the humidity of the swamp. She’d shed most of the cloaks and cloths she’d worn on her inbound trek and now wore only a tunic embroidered with glass beads and thread with an open back, so her silvery gossamer wings had room to move. At her hip was sheathed a short slim sword. Bellanji, at Tavra’s shoulder, was in his ranging gear: light armor made of tanned Nebrie hide and sun-hardened pieces of apeknot bark. He had a travel pack strapped across his shoulders and his hunting spear in hand. With only a series of nods, silent in the awakening morning, they embarked, leaving the Drenchen Glen and Great Smerth behind them.
Naia followed her father upward, and they showed Tavra how to climb into the labyrinth of apeknot branches, ensuring the journey out of Sog would not be as grueling as the one inward. Once they reached the canopy, they picked up their pace without hesitation. Using his spear to vault from apeknot to apeknot, Bellanji was swift and powerful despite his bulk, and Naia had to stay alert and on her toes to meet his pace. It was exhilarating to feel the wind against her skin, and the challenge of matching her father—or at least, not falling behind—brought her heart to a steady quickened rhythm that synchronized with the song of the swamp. In this way they went from morning through late afternoon, making quick headway north. Naia nodded quiet so longs to each apeknot she passed, still in disbelief that by the end of a day’s journey, she would finally be leaving the swamp that had been her constant home since she was born.
To her surprise, Tavra kept up. Without the weight of her cloak, free of the quagmire that had sucked at her boots for miles, the Silverling was as fleet as a bog flier. Naia could only imagine how quick she might be in an open field, or maybe atop a long-legged Landstrider. Tavra’s wings stayed folded tightly at her back until just the right moment—then whissssh! Out they’d stretch, catching the atmosphere and launching her into the air, where she’d glide, darting upward to land on another branch and resuming her pace on foot.
As the trees began to thin nearer the swamp threshold, Tavra made one particularly impressive leap, swooping high into the air and flying for some distance without landing. The clearing in the canopy let the sunlight through, and the rays caught the Silverling’s wings, lighting them with a flash and sparkle of silver. Distracted by the sight, Naia swelled with envy, nearly missing her step as the earth suddenly shook. At a reverberating groan, the apeknots all around tried to curl in on themselves; the younger trees below successfully balled into knotted fists, while the older trees, armored in centuries of hardened bark, only shuddered, creaked, and cracked. Naia grabbed tightly on to the bark, digging her fingernails in and holding her breath, knowing
that if she were tossed from the branch, she would have no way to slow her fall.
She heard shouting as the trembling subsided. They had made it to the Tall Pass, the great division of apeknots that marked the border between Drenchen territory and the outer swamp that would eventually give way to the grasslands beyond. As soon as she was able to do so without fear of losing her balance, Naia leaped to her feet and looked for her father and Tavra. They’d been knocked down, nearly to the swamp floor . . . but they were safe.
Safe, until a monstrous form erupted from the murky depths.
Naia pressed her hands over her ears at the deafening roar as mud and swamp slime flew in every direction, sludge falling away in a landslide off the monster that had emerged. It looked like a Nebrie, round, with tusks and dark inky eyes on either side of its bulbous head. This creature, though, was ten times larger and as black as midnight. It loomed up into the canopy with its flippers held wide like enormous thick wings. Its eyes crackled with a violet light, and the swamp around it shrank away. Even Naia could feel the energy emanating from it. Confused. Afraid. Angry.
As Naia drew one of her bola, the monstrous Nebrie lunged at her father and Tavra. Though the two leaped away, the sheer bulk of the monster broke through the limbs of the apeknots as if they were twigs. The Nebrie crashed to the swamp floor with a thunderous BA-BOOOOOM, and Tavra alit on a nearby root, drawing her sword. Bellanji braced himself, planting his heels and holding his stone-tipped spear at the monster’s nearest eye. The Nebrie wailed, pulling itself up and baring its tusks, each of which was easily twice the size of Naia’s father. Bellanji stiffened his back and followed the beast with the head of his spear.
“What’s driven you to such rage, Nebrie?” he shouted.
“It’s going to attack!” Tavra warned. Her eyes darted up, and she cut the air with her hand, signaling for Naia to run, but Naia clenched her hand around the hand-rope of her bola, legs immobile with fear and dread, not for herself but for her father. The Nebrie reared, preparing to attack again. If it did, even as quick as Bellanji might be, there was no way he could escape the huge bulk of the creature. Without thinking, Naia swung the counterweights of her bola and let it fly, striking the Nebrie in one of its globular eyes. The rock-and-rope harmlessly bounced away, but she had the thing’s attention.
“Naia, no!” Tavra shouted. “You’ll only make it angrier! Just get out of here!”
“And let it kill my father? Not likely!”
Naia stood and darted out along the branch. The wild Nebrie turned its attention away from Bellanji and lurched toward her.
“Over here!” she called to it. “Come on, you big lug!”
“Naia, be careful,” her father warned as he backed away, out of the Nebrie’s shadow. From her higher vantage, Naia doubted the beast could strike her. If she could lead it away from Tavra and her father, they could ascend back into the safety of the canopy and escape. She let her second bola loose and struck the monster in the face, eliciting a howling squeal. It rose, taller than she had thought possible, fixing her with empty eyes that sparked with a crackle of vicious purple light. Tavra saw it, too, and asked in a shaken voice, “What’s wrong with its eyes?”
Naia stared into the creature’s deep orbs, sensing pain and seeing only black and flashes of violet, as if the Nebrie had looked upon something so bright and terrible that the image had burned all else from its mind.
“Naia, out of the way!”
Her father’s warning came too late. The Nebrie swung its head at Naia’s tree, and its tusk shattered it on impact, hurtling like a boulder and ripping through the swamp. Even old and solid as it was, the tree splintered with a deafening CRACK that sent hundreds of birds flying into the sky. As the top part of the tree leaned, Naia scrambled for a foothold amongst the tangled branches and overgrowth. As she reached the end of the bough, she knew she would not be able to reach the next one. Still, she leaped, knowing no other option. The leaves from the outstretched branch opposite brushed through her fingers, and then she was falling, fast, through the shadow of the dark Nebrie.
She hit the surface of a murky lake, and the shock immobilized her as she sank. Like others of her clan, she had no fear of drowning. The gills in the sides of her neck opened, and she breathed in a deep gasp of water. She sank deeper until her back touched the soft mud of the lake bottom. Neech, who had been hiding in her locs, swam around, spitting bubbles of worry. Through the murky water, she saw the shadow of the Nebrie and flashes of light. The water muffled all sounds except the groaning of the half-submerged Nebrie. All she could do was hope that her father and Tavra would survive.
Her fingers began to tingle, and after what seemed like ages, Naia regained feeling. She dug them into the mud below her, getting a handhold to pull herself up. She stopped. Something hard was under her toes. She twisted and looked, pulling away the mud and silt. Below the gray and black, there was a ripple of light—a sparkle of violet. She cleared the area and saw a crystalline vein running through the rock. Though it was only a thread’s width, she found herself squinting instinctively, as if her body knew that the source—however distant it was—was so bright it might blind her.
The chaos above her seemed distant. Far away. It wasn’t until a loud splash cascaded above her that she realized she had lost time, and looked up. A body was drifting toward her, blood reddening the water around it. Panic struck her, and she forgot the crystal. She planted her feet on the lake floor and launched herself upward. Her father was sinking, bleeding from a massive wound in his side.
She caught him and slowed his descent. He was conscious, but barely, spear still clenched in his hand. Naia kicked, pulling the weight of her father until they broke the surface of the lake. Then Tavra was there, trying to help haul Bellanji onto the soggy moss blanketing the apeknot roots, but one of her arms dangled uselessly at her side, and her tunic was stained red with blood. They wrestled Bellanji halfway out of the water and stopped to breathe. Tears mixed with swamp water and green bits of algae and slime on Naia’s cheeks. It was quiet, and she thought for a moment that the Nebrie had fled, but then Tavra whispered, “Naia. Run.”
Her mind cleared, and Naia became aware of the heavy shadow being cast upon them. Looming overhead was the Nebrie, still trembling and groaning in its rage, so close Naia could see the hairs protruding from its thick mottled hide. Froth flew from its muzzle and tusks as it sighted her. Bearing the bulk of her father’s weight, there was no way she could escape. Tavra’s words echoed in her mind, but she couldn’t run. Her feet were useless, immobile as rocks growing from her ankles.
The Nebrie let out a deafening wail, and instead of fear, for an instant, Naia felt the agony in the creature’s cry. It resonated within her so suddenly that it brought a tear to her eye. The Nebrie was in pain, and she could feel it as closely as if it were her own. Spurred by the sensation, her feet were moving of their own accord, but they were not taking her out of the monstrous shadow.
“Naia, no!” Tavra hissed. She tried to pull Naia back with her good hand, but her reach was short. Naia stepped close enough to the Nebrie to touch it. She hushed her voice and reached out, smoothing her hand along its rough skin. The Nebrie didn’t move, still facing the sky, gazing with unseeing eyes. The low constant groan emanating from its belly seemed to come from beyond the Nebrie, as if the swamp itself were writhing in aching pain.
“Please,” she called to it. She didn’t know what else to do. She poured her honesty into her words, wishing, hoping, praying that it would reach the Nebrie. “Please, I don’t know what plagues you. We mean you no harm—”
At the sound of her voice, the Nebrie gaped, tusks and teeth bared, rolling its head. Tavra cursed and struggled to move Bellanji away, giving up on trying to coerce Naia into fleeing. Naia didn’t care, focusing all her attention on the Nebrie. Where had it come from? What had it seen that had changed it so? A vision wriggled into her mind, of the crysta
l vein in the swamp and its terrible darkness. Of shadowy shapes. Of fear. The fear bore down on her like a moonless midnight, enveloping her, but she could not afford to become lost within it. She thought of her father, her mother, her sisters, and Gurjin, wherever he was.
The Nebrie let out a high pained cry and shuddered, startling Naia into stepping back. She kept her hands at her side, watching. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tavra was watching, too, having given up on escape. If the Nebrie lunged, they were done for . . . but it made no move, uttered no sound. The entire swamp was quiet save for the dripping of water, and then a low rumbling moan. The cry was so miserable and pained, it brought more tears to Naia’s eyes. The Nebrie shuddered from fin to snout, then collapsed in a wave of flippers, whiskers, and flesh. It heaved a breath, but the sound was ragged, deep, and hollow.
All was silent. The Nebrie was dead.
Chapter 5
Tavra helped Naia pull her father onto a bed of algae and moss. Naia could see that the wound, although deep, was not as bad as it had seemed in the water, surrounded by clouds and clouds of blood. Tavra heaved a sigh and fell to her knees, grasping her arm. Her shoulder seemed dislocated, and sharp pieces of daggered wood pierced her arm and parts of her torso. She must have collided with one of the many splintered branches or tree trunks that littered the Tall Pass. One of her wings looked crushed, but at least it was intact. Collapsed between two apeknots, the Nebrie was nothing but a mound of gray and black flesh. One flipper extended limply in the air, soon to be a perch and feeding ground for the scavenging animals of the swamp.
“Father,” Naia whispered. “Father, are you all right?”
“Oh hush,” Bellanji grunted, sitting up and pressing a hand to his side. “Of course I am.”
Naia searched the traveling pack that was buckled to his belt, looking for healing herbs. Tearing cloth from her tunic, she pressed it against the wound. Tavra found Bellanji’s spear and laid it nearby in case of trouble, then searched the canopy for any more danger. All the creatures had fled, afraid of the monstrous beast the Nebrie had become.