Call of the Waters (Elemental Realms Book 2)

by H. L. Burke

  “We need to start a fire,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “I have … flint. It might be dry.” Trea unshouldered her pack and passed it to him. She stumbled up the beach to where a collection of broken branches and fallen trees had been abandoned by an earlier flood.

  He shook his head as he opened the sopping pack. There was no way anything in there wasn’t wet through.

  “It’s in a pouch, tied to the side,” she yelled back.

  He found the tiny bag, and a smile crept over his face. The pouch was tied shut and coated in a thick layer of wax. There was hope yet.

  Why do I doubt her? I should know better by now.

  Trea piled wood and ripped up handfuls of the dried grass growing in clumps along the cliff face.

  Brode fumbled with the flint and steel. He couldn’t feel his fingers, and his grip kept slipping. Trea nudged him aside. Her tiny hand, as cold as ice itself, touched the back of his clumsy paw. “Let me do it. Try to salvage what you can in my pack.”

  Letting her have the flint, he examined the contents of her satchel. The food looked miserable, but perhaps still edible. It would probably spoil in a day or two when mold set in. Trea had a spare tunic, trousers, and stockings, all of which he laid out on a sun-warmed boulder, along with her blanket and extra cloak.

  His wet clothing stuck to him. He longed to strip and lie flat in the sun, but Trea's presence made him balk.

  The welcome scent of smoke tickled his nose. Trea held her hands to the crackling fire, her outstretched arms shaking. Her dark hair clung to her cheeks and neck.

  “We need to get back. Dad’s all alone with that … that man.”

  “Let’s get warm first.” He knelt beside her. “We won’t be able to help him if we freeze to death.”

  She nodded, her bottom lip squeezed between her teeth.

  He glanced down the river. It was broad here, and slow, very unlike the rushing rapids under the bridge. “How far downstream do you think we’ve gone?”

  “I don’t know.” She tilted her head towards the canyon’s edge, far above. “The rock formations aren’t familiar here. We weren’t in the water that long, were we?”

  His fingers stung as his skin came back to life. “It’s hard to say, but I don’t think so.”

  He scanned the canyon. Their little beach lay against a steep bank, but above that a faint path, perhaps forged by deer seeking water, led towards the top. “I think we can climb out of here.”

  “Good.” Her teeth still chattered.

  Brode hesitated a moment, then scooted closer to her. “If it wouldn’t make you too uncomfortable, if we lean into each other … we might warm up faster.” He awkwardly slipped his arm around her shoulders, praying she wouldn’t flinch away. She laid her head against his chest, and every muscle in his body melted.

  He rested his chin against her hair, closed his eyes, and savored her.

  ***

  The ground grew higher and rockier the further north they traveled. Gabrin kicked at the stones.

  I should’ve moved faster, gutted that rock tosser. Quill’s empathic, but what’s my excuse?

  They’d traveled through the night, catching a few hours of sleep before dawn. Eanan didn’t wish to risk a campfire, so they’d bundled together, something Gabrin might’ve enjoyed under other circumstances, having his back against Quill’s all night. The mood, however, had been tense as an anchor line.

  Even now, with miles between them and the Span, Quill jumped at every cracking twig.

  Gabrin paused and watched her glance over her shoulder. “I think we’ve lost him … or he didn’t bother to chase us once he saw how pathetic we were in a fight. Probably the second.” He snorted.

  Quill flushed and turned away from him. She stomped off.

  Eanan placed his hand on Gabrin’s shoulder. “Stop needling her. She’s as tired and frustrated as we are.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” Gabrin jerked his thumb at where she’d disappeared into the bushes. “She made us rewrite our whole plan because she couldn’t cross a bridge.”

  “You don’t understand empathics.” Eanan smiled.

  “And you do? The man who abandoned two of them?”

  Eanan recoiled.

  Gabrin bit his tongue. He drew a breath through his nose. “I’m sorry … it’s the lack of sleep talking.”

  Eanan nodded, but his smile didn’t return. “I’m far from perfect in my treatment of either Willa or Sarra, I’ll admit that. However, between the two of them, I have about forty years of experience observing empathics. Imagine feeling the pain of every living creature? Of being unable to step on an ant without hurting yourself? It’s so ingrained into who they are that asking her to abandon it is like asking her to chop off a hand. She’s shaken, Gabrin. Everything for her is changing. Show a little compassion.” He followed Quill into the brush.

  Gabrin sighed. He flipped open his compass. They’d been following that northward arrow all day. If they went much further off course, they’d never find the next landmark, the Water Speaker Sanctuary.

  The woods here consisted mainly of wind-twisted conifers. If he squinted through them, he could see flashes of the canyon, and the roar of the water was never far away. He wondered if it spoke to Quill. What was it like to hear voices inside one’s head? Maybe he couldn’t blame her for being so erratic. Still, they would be so much further on their journey if she’d thought rather than reacted.

  A shadow passed overhead, too quickly to be a cloud, too large to be a bird. Shielding his eyes, Gabrin glanced up. Nothing. He slipped his compass back into his pocket and ran after Eanan and Quill.

  He found them both craning their necks at the skies.

  “You saw it too?” He frowned.

  Eanan nodded. “Just a glimpse. A bird … I think?”

  “It would have to be a very large bird,” Quill said. “We’re all on edge after yesterday. It was probably a cloud.”

  A shrill cry cut through the woods. Gabrin ducked, and Quill grasped Eanan’s arm.

  “Whatever that was, it sounds like it's in the canyon. Let’s go see.” Eanan took off at a brisk pace.

  Gabrin raised his eyebrows at Quill. “I’m game if you’re game.”

  She sighed. “Best to know what we’re up against, I suppose.”

  They followed Eanan to the cliffs.

  The gorge here was narrower even than it had been at the Span. A tantalizing stone’s throw across. The river frothed, angry and white, intimidating even to Gabrin who had seen his share of squalls.

  “Look!” Quill gasped, pointing.

  Across the channel, built onto a shelf of rock, lay a nest. The massive tangle of wood appeared to consist of whole, uprooted pines. Upon it, settled like a brooding hen, was a great brown bird of prey. Its head was tucked peacefully under one wing, but its mass took Gabrin’s breath from him.

  “What is that?” Instinctively, his hand moved towards his sword hilt.

  “A roc!” Quill’s eyes seemed to dance.

  He raised his eyebrows. “No, that’s definitely not a rock. It looks like a large bird.”

  “No, silly. A roc is a sort of bird. Freda saw them during the war and told me all about them. I didn’t think they nested so far north.”

  “So that’s why they call this place Shadow Wing Canyon.” Eanan whistled. “I’d hate to have that beast mistake me for lunch.”

  As if in response, the bird looked up. Its wings expanded like the arms of a stretching man. With two great flaps, it took off into the air and sped up the canyon. It dove towards the river and rose with a silver fish, perhaps four feet in length, but like a minnow in the bird’s talons. It then circled back and dropped this prize into its nest.

  Gabrin clapped Eanan on the back. “Looks like it found lunch on its own, so you’re safe. Speaking of which, I’m starving. Hardtack and dried fish again, I suppose.” He dug into his pack and sat down near the edge. The roc tore strips of pink flesh off its catch, glancing up every
so often with wary, black eyes.

  Quill wandered along the canyon’s edge, craning her neck.

  “Don’t stray too far,” Eanan called.

  “I want to see if there are any other nests,” she yelled back before disappearing behind a stand of twisted pines.

  Gabrin forced down an oily bite of fish. The roc seemed to be getting a lot more pleasure out of basically the same meal. “We may have to go hunting if we’re out here much longer. I’ve only got a few more days left of supplies, enough to get us back to civilization, maybe.”

  “I’m not ready to turn back yet. We’re so close.” Eanan leaned against a nearby tree and kicked a rock over the edge. “There has to be a way across the canyon. Maybe it gets narrower further north, enough that we could ford it.”

  “Maybe. We could also return to the Span. I mean, there was only one man holding it. How long can he stay there? Did he even have shelter? Supplies? He has to sleep sometime, right?” Gabrin drained the last of his canteen in one long drink. “Hopefully we find a stream soon. I’d hate to parch to death this close to a river.”

  Eanan closed his eyes.

  “Grandfather! Gabrin! Come look!” Quill’s voice carried over the roar of the river. The men exchanged a glance then scrambled after her.

  Quill stood at the base of an uprooted tree. The root system alone was twice her height and filled with growing ferns. A smile crept over Eanan’s face. The fallen tree spanned the canyon.

  Gabrin’s stomach clenched. “Oh ships, no. I’m not … that isn’t safe. For all we know it could be rotten, break in half with us midway over.”

  She scowled at him. “You’re the one who’s been furious we didn’t cross over earlier. It’s broad enough that three men could walk abreast. Perfectly safe.”

  “I’m a man, not a cat. I don’t balance on tree limbs.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Quill rolled her eyes, grabbed one of the tree’s roots as if it had been a ladder’s rung, and clambered onto the broad trunk. “It’s not that far. Come on. Don’t be a baby.”

  Eanan climbed up beside her. “He’s right about the possibility of rot, though. Let me go first, all right?”

  “I don’t want you to risk yourself for my idea.” Quill shook her head.

  “Indulge an old man.” Eanan smiled.

  Gabrin pulled himself up next to them, so he could get a better view of Eanan’s crossing. The water growled at him.

  Eanan stepped forward, back straight, eyes ahead. The path started out broad, but narrowed towards the opposite bank. Around the mid-way point, Eanan stretched out his arms to improve balance.

  Quill hissed in a breath. In spite of his own nerves, Gabrin smiled. Not so brave now, was she?

  Reaching the other side, Eanan jumped off the tree, turned, and waved.

  “Well, is that enough for you?” Quill tilted her face towards Gabrin.

  He sighed. “No, but once again, I’m outnumbered. Ladies first?”

  She all but danced across the wooden pathway in front of him. He concentrated on her to keep himself from looking down. Nice curves. Especially from behind. He smirked. If she read his thoughts now, she’d slap him right off the bridge.

  One foot in front of the other. That’s all. Almost there.

  The path grew narrower. Quill’s pace slowed, and her arms extended. He followed suit.

  A sharp cry shattered his ears. Quill ducked. Gabrin spun around, only to find himself an arm’s length from a swooping roc. The wind of the bird’s passing buffeted him, and he tumbled.

  “Gabrin!” Quill shrieked.

  He clawed at the bark, but it flaked away in his hands. He slipped.

  Fingers slapped around his wrist. He snatched a thin branch with his free hand. Gulping for breath, he stared into Quill’s wide eyes.

  “Don’t let go!” He heard himself whimper like a child. His feet kicked at the air, searching for some purchase.

  “Stop jerking!” Her face turned red. She strained, tugging him upwards. “I can’t … Grandfather! Help!”

  The log shifted. Gabrin gasped. His gaze dropped to the churning waters below. No way on land or sea he’d survive those rapids. Pulling with all his might, he tried to lift himself. The log rolled. Quill gripped a branch with her free hand, flattening herself against the log. Her fingernails pierced his skin. Veins bulged in her neck.

  If I try to pull myself up, I could pull her down. Burn it all, I don’t want to die. I don’t.

  The log shook with Eanan’s approaching footsteps. “Hold on, boy!”

  Her fingers slipped from his wrist to his palm. His heart rate spiked.

  “Please hold on!” She choked on her words. Beads of sweat dripped down her face … or was that sweat? He froze as her eyes glowed blue.

  His hand escaped from hers, and all became the rush of air. He crashed into the water, but instead of losing himself, tumbling to his death in the torrent, liquid held him still. He flailed out. The water pushed against him and tossed him like a hand throwing a rock onto the far bank. He landed on his side, then rolled over to stare at the beautiful blue sky. His pulse hammered into his head. Letting out a long breath, he closed his eyes. Creator, I owe you one.

  A moment later there was a crashing of branches, and Eanan and Quill surrounded him, urging him to sit up, asking if anything was broken.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he assured them. “A little winded and a lot wet is all.”

  Quill sank to her knees beside him, her cheeks white as the water he’d so barely escaped.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so … every time I make a choice on this journey it goes … so badly.” She buried her face in her hands.

  “You did that, didn’t you? Water doesn’t just reach out and toss someone on its own.” He squinted at her. “You let them in again?”

  “I couldn’t let you … I couldn’t …” Her shoulders shook.

  He touched her cheek. She means well, poor kid. And ships, if she can do that … what else is she capable of? “Quill,” he whispered. “I promise, I’m all right. You didn’t get me hurt. You saved me.”

  Her bottom lip still trembled.

  “Thank you,” he breathed.

  Their eyes locked, and for a moment he wanted to pull her closer, to touch her, comfort her, allow her to comfort him.

  “I’m glad you’re all right, boy,” Eanan said.

  Gabrin jerked his hand from her and stood. “I’m soaked, but I’d rather dry on my feet. We’re finally on the right path again.” He removed his pack. He’d water treated it—a habit from years at sea—with oil, and the insides seemed mostly dry. At best a bit damp. Thank the Creator. Those were his only charts of this area. “Let’s make up for lost time.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Trea squinted in the fading light. Through the sparse trees, a black shape loomed. The Span?

  “I think I see it!” She broke into a run, the twigs of the underbrush scraping against her still-damp trousers.

  “Wait up!” Brode’s footsteps pounded behind her. He caught her by the arm. “Trea, if the man who attacked us is still there, we don’t want to go rushing blindly into this.”

  She bit her tongue, but nodded. He was right, of course, but the hike back to the Span had taken almost the whole day, and that man could be doing so many awful things to her dad. If she didn’t find him soon, she’d start punching trees.

  “The treeline reaches almost to the canyon. We should be able to stay out of sight, if we’re careful and quiet.” He bit his lip. “I lost my bow with my other gear. I didn’t notice one in your pack.”

  She shook her head. “It was strapped to the outside. It must’ve gotten lost in the river. I have some bowstrings and fletchings. If we can find the right wood, I can make replacements for both of us. Not ideal ones, but serviceable.”

  “It’s getting dark, though.”

  Trea swayed on her feet. Every muscle in her body ached, not only from the unexpected swim and the long hike, but
also from being bashed against rocks and logs during her trip down the rapids.

  “Let’s at least try to get eyes on him, tonight,” she begged. “I can’t stop now. Not when we’re so close.”

  Brode shifted from foot to foot. “All right. We can try, but remember how he sneaked up on us on the cliff side? I’m not going swimming again today.”

  “I’ll be careful. We weren’t expecting an attack last time. Now we are.”

  Brode fingered his knife, an icestone blade he’d had as long as she’d known him. “Let’s go.”

  They crept along the edge of the cliff, dodging from tree to tree. They approached the Span. There was no sign of Dad or their attacker. Trea slipped into the shadows of the bridge’s columns. She could clearly see the shelf where the fight had occurred, the broken path, and the boulders their attacker had hid behind. “I don’t think they’re here.”

  “They could be hiding.”

  Trea shook her head. The air felt empty. She couldn’t explain it, even if she wanted to, but she knew somehow, they weren’t there.

  “Hold up!” Brode hissed as she stepped onto the bridge.

  Trea scanned the smooth stone beneath her. Droplets of black grime made a faint path. “Dad crossed the bridge … and he was injured. Water damage, but not a lot of it. A small wound by the amount of ichor.”

  With a slight groan, Brode joined her on the Span. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded towards the signs.

  He bit his lip. “Yeah, that’s definitely him. He's alive, thank the Creator.” He kept his eyes to the trail. Trea rushed ahead of him, afraid he’d step on prints before she could read them. Brode was an excellent gardener but had always been lacking when it came to hunting and tracking. Too willing to dismiss signs rather than stop to read them.

  “He wasn’t alone.” She pointed to a boot print. “Looks like just the one man.” After a few feet of broken ground, the path became the brick Highway again. The ichor trail dried up a few feet beyond that. “They’re headed the way we were … Presumably the way Quill was. What could they want with Dad?”