by Paul Drewitz
For several more moments they stood debating silently as they watched grains of sand pass down the water’s current.
“We’re never going to find out by simply standing here,” Easton stated.
“No,” Erelon said while walking toward his horse, “Might as well go and figure it out along the way.”
Erelon mounted Draos, and as they crossed the stream, Erelon allowed his horse to play in the water for a moment before nudging him out onto the other bank. It was a wooded area, the trees feeding off the stream. The small forest was filled with brush that Erelon had to find or force paths through.
Burrs caught in the horses’ hair. Their tales and manes turned into knotted messes that would make for horrible brushing. It was just a small forest, however, and ended long before the valley was cut off by a hill.
Rain rolled over the landscape. Far off Erelon could see it coming down in what seemed to be unmoving streaks that covered the landscape beyond in a gray veil. What seemed to be a hill rose up in a flat gray value, on its summit a few rough trees. But as time progressed, the trees seemed to change form, morphing. It was no more than a large cloud.
The rain washed over the riders and their horses, soaking everything. Erelon had packed their food in material that was supposed to be waterproof. Erelon’s own clothing became completely wet, more than doubling its weight. Drops ran down the wizard’s limbs, tickling and making travel uncomfortable as clothes clung to every muscle and the atmosphere became heavy, oppressive, and hard to breath. Lightning bolts streaked from cloud to cloud before descending and striking the ground, causing huge explosions and the earth to shake.
Easton had wanted to stop, to hide. But Erelon had insisted that there was no place in which to hide from the storm and so pressed on. The rain blinded both men and horses as it came down in vicious torrents. The river rose and began to flow down a few of the valleys carrying the sludge with it, turning low points into ponds or annexing them. Erelon could not keep to the high ridges without risk of being swept downward and into the rushing water, and he could not keep to the valleys as the floods came fast and furious, carrying everything with it into the main river. Erelon was forced to choose a path that led away from the river.
The lightning grew closer to Erelon, striking the hills around and drawing closer until it was striking the wizard. The electrical power circled him, bolts of electricity decorating Erelon, showing his true power as he absorbed the energy without causing any damage to himself, Draos, or anything around him. The horses, excepting Draos, wanted to bolt. Draos had long ago become accustomed to the ferocious power emanated from his rider, but so much energy and power left the other two skittish. Only Easton’s powerful arm kept them under control as he watched Erelon before him in a display of power great enough that it had the potential to destroy entire armies. It no longer surprised Easton that the wraiths offered Erelon a position among them.
Easton did not know how many days passed while it rained. The world was dark most hours of every day. Easton feared that they might have missed their stop, the third tributary that fed into Fallas. The flooding had caused many phantom rivers to appear. They might have passed the real one or gone around it as they had been forced to travel far east of Fallas.
The rain slowly let up. The clouds thinned so that some light could come through, a gloomy dull gray light. Erelon continued onward, showing no sign of worry over the fact that they could have easily missed their stop. Easton nervously looked backward. Even after the world darkened as the sun went down, Easton continued to turn to look at the path they had already traveled.
The lightning had left, now only a dull rumble far away, traveling, echoing through the valleys, reminding Easton of Erelon’s display of control over nature’s elements. Erelon finally stopped. He pulled under some low hanging branches, unsaddling Draos and laying the saddle on the wet earth. Everything was wet; a dry camp was impossible to find. Clothes were already soaked, and so it did not matter where they slept. Erelon drifted off, shivering in cold wet clothes with branches dripping water from above. The ground was so saturated that the water sat on top of the ground and surrounded the wizard.
A few hours later, the world was still so dark that Erelon could not see his hand even as he held it before his face. Still the older wizard was awake. He thought about starting a fire, but knew it would be impossible without gathering a pile of wood and casting a spell. Erelon felt too tired to move. Instead he just lay there as if brain dead, listening to the horses breathe in their own sleep.
It was again drizzling, but a fine rain was better than a downpour. Erelon pulled his legs up against his body and simply sat there, too tired to move, but not enough to go back to sleep. He watched the clouds brighten as the sun shone behind them. He watched the younger wizard sleep. Erelon had long known that Easton had considered him a kind of mentor, not quite like how Erelon had seen Chaucer but close. Chaucer had been more like a grandfather to Erelon. Erelon was more like an older brother to Easton. However, Erelon had long looked back along his failures and tried to steer Easton to find guidance from others more stable than himself. But after having seen Chaucer's own life, Erelon discovered even his own mentor had failures, secrets that he had never told Erelon, secrets that he had not been proud of. Erelon had come to discover that these failures, these moments of disgrace were what made Chaucer the man he was, that had given him the strength of character to raise himself. And now, Erelon tried to channel his own failures to help make Easton a better wizard, a better man.
Easton slowly stirred as a tree allowed water to drop into the wizard’s face. Slowly Easton climbed to his feet and looked down at Erelon before moving, trying to get his muscles and joints to loosen after being wet and cold all night.
“How do you know we did not miss our stop?” Easton asked Erelon as the younger man looked out into the saturated, dreary world.
One look from Erelon told Easton that the older wizard was traveling only by what he felt to be right. Erelon did not know any facts to prove that he knew where they traveled.
With the rains moving off, Erelon took a path closer to the river. The clouds began to clear, and the world grew hot and oppressive as the rain had left the atmosphere humid. The men were just as wet from sweat as they had been during the rain storm. They topped a hill, and Erelon stopped for a moment to look around. The river had steadily grown wider the farther north they had traveled. The other side would be impossible to reach by swimming the horses. In the current, debris swept strong and steady. The sludge gurgled and plopped as it drifted along. No more than little spots, goblins moved on the other shore line. The wizard watched as they scrambled on some errand before disappearing into the trees.
“They own the western side?” Easton questioned.
“I know,” Erelon answered and then pulled on Draos’s reins, leading him back down.
Both men watched for another tributary. Easton began to talk of going back, but Erelon refused. The younger wizard began to wonder if the third tributary was a small stream easily covered by leaves or maybe something underground. Easton began to carefully inspect the ground.
Erelon watched Easton for several hours as he turned over leaves, looked behind rocks, and checked every low point before finally saying, “When we find the third tributary, we will know it.”
“How can you be so sure?” Easton asked suspiciously, as if he suspected Erelon of withholding information.
Erelon did not answer but continued on, never looking back, never hesitating to go forward.
The small river flowed past, smoothly between two hills and then into Fallas. It was surrounded by trees and brush. It was deep and just wide enough that Erelon could not have thrown a small stone to the other side.
Erelon stated after a long moment of standing in silence, “The people we are looking for live at the beginning of this river’s source.”
“What?” Easton asked.
“I assumed it would have to be a source of water of some s
ignificance if the people we are looking for live at its source and have a ferry service,” Erelon answered with an explanation.
Erelon turned east, traveling against the tributary’s current. At times the brush forced Erelon to find a path that led away from the small river, which eventually turned into a shallow bog.
“Not long now,” Erelon said.
“From what?” Easton asked.
“Those we are looking for,” Erelon answered, “They will not want to live far from the current. Too far to push a boat.”
Draos began to sink to his knees. Erelon dismounted and began to find a path by foot, feeling for the earth that had more density. Erelon smelled something hot, something burning, and followed it. Little flickering fires sat on top of the swamp, lighting a drier path. At the path’s end were several small, round mud buildings with sticks, driftwood, and debris sticking from their outer walls. Small, smoothly arched windows and doors were well lit from inside. Moss, fungus, and mushrooms hung everywhere, suffocating the trees, floating across the bog’s surface. The whole area smelled of fermentation and decay, an odor that made the nose tingle.
“Which one?” Easton asked Erelon and himself.
“I would guess the biggest,” Erelon said while indicating one toward the center.
Erelon stepped before the giant mound and dropped the reins. Erelon was forced to hunch low to walk through the doorway. There had been no door blocking the opening, no knocker to hammer with, and so the wizard simply stepped through.
Before there had been the low rolling sound of mumbling voices, but as Erelon stepped through, all the inhabitants ceased to speak. A long table lay before Erelon surrounded by little ugly creatures. Each looked like a mix between a frog and a man. They were covered in a variegated, bumpy, dark green skin except the abdomen, bottom of their arms, chest, and neck, which were covered in soft, light green skin. Fingers were all half connected with webbing; their joints were bulbous; and they had huge eyes. The table was covered in plates of food that looked like a pile of decaying flies. the walls were smooth and white.
One at the head of the table belted out rudely in a nasal, croaking voice, “What do you want? Why are you here?”
Erelon looked directly into the frogman’s eyes and stated, “Just two men, three horses, looking for a ferry across the river.”
The frog gurgled for a moment while thinking and then asked, “You do understand that the other side is controlled by goblins? They also try to patrol the river. It will be dangerous to cross, and once on the other side, you are in territory controlled by forces beyond the power of any army of man, elf, or dwarve combined.”
“Yeah, I know,” Erelon said, a wild smile creasing his face as he remembered what had happened last time he had visited Mortaz.
“Jer,” the leader croaked, “Get the ferry ready immediately.”
One of the creatures jumped to his feet and disappeared out the door.
“You’ll leave immediately. You’ll reach Fallas by the time the first rays come up and the other side by mid morning. It’ll cost a gold coin per horse and silver per person, paid before you leave.”
Erelon reached into a pouch within his cloak and drew out the appropriate amount. He held the coins up so that the light could catch their color and then dropped them to the table. He turned without another word to disappear through the door.
It took a few moments to drag the horses onto the boat. Draos had followed Erelon without hesitation. The other two, however, did not like the unstable vessel and struggled as Easton and the frogman pulled them aboard. The raft was constructed of logs in a wide oval bowl shape. A few logs came up to create an edge.
The frogman propelled the boat forward with a pole through the bog’s water. As the vessel began to pick up pace, another of the creatures appeared. Running, the second frogman caught up and leapt in to flop down beside the oar.
The raft pushed the moss aside as it passed through. A hole had been cut through reeds. Trees hung low, trying to grab at those in the boat, and roots tried to tear the bottom from the raft. The water grew deeper as it changed into a narrow river. As they left the bog behind, the boat began to move faster.
“You both had better get some sleep. It’s several hours before we reach the main river, and from there the danger starts. For you all, since you’ll be traveling on the other banks, I assume trouble for you will last until you find some safe place to hide,” the frogman continued to croak, trying to break the silence that settled on the water.
“I heard that River Fallas is drying up,” Erelon asked.
“It was,” one of the frogmen answered, “But there was some kind of water eruption down south, and the water is flowing in both directions of the old river bed, and in fact has connected with the old River Fallas.”
“Yeah, and it does not matter what the old wizard’s castle does. They can’t stop the fresh water from flowing,” the other croaked.
“Ugh,” the first frogman shuddered, “Fresh water. Washes the slime from your body. It’s bad for the skin.”
Erelon smiled. If River Fallas was turning fresh, the wraiths had to at least be starting to become nervous. Easton had already sunk into the floor of the boat, completely unconscious and wrapped in extra blankets brought by the frogmen. Erelon sat in the raft, his eyes heavy, but he was not sure that he wanted to trust these strange creatures. Slowly darkness closed on Erelon’s open eyes.
Trees floated by above Erelon as the rays of the sun struck them, giving them form, outlining the thin edges of the leaves, and tracing the lines of the water vessel.
As the older wizard sat up, one of the frogmen commented, “Now comes the fun.”
Erelon looked ahead and saw two hills, through which the river they were traveling on collided with Fallas. Nothing made a sound as they passed between the solemn hills, sloping down into the river covered with trees that hung over the river shading the boat. The huge river of Fallas opened before them. Fog clung to its surface, looking like wisps of cotton fibers pulled apart. Slowly the raft passed through them, causing the fog to part.
“Ideally,” one of the frogmen whispered, “We would pass across, drop you off, and get back before the fog clears.”
The sun came up quickly, burning the fog, turning the river naked, stealing all of their cover. The river was still, a dark green except for where the sky reflected from it, causing the water to look blue. The water was so murky that the moment Erelon dropped his hand into the liquid, it disappeared. The river opened up wide before them, disappearing into the distance. Once on the river, it seemed to make the wizard gasp and grab for air. It's size made the wizard feel extremely small. It was a great powerful force, something that could not easily be controlled, and Erelon felt exposed drifting along its surface.
“Not good,” one of the frogmen choked as he watched goblins stirring on the far bank, racing for ugly boats with half circle sails already tightly stretched.
The frogmen’s raft was caught in the current; it was too late to turn back. It was not long before the goblin’s boats grew bigger, their crews all jeering and smiling. A few arrows were released to fall harmlessly short of the frogmen’s boat, standing straight in the liquid before slowly sinking down.
A turtle floated by. Raising its head, it seemed to stick its long, narrow, pink tongue at Erelon and then gave him a grin that laughed at the wizard, knowing what was coming.
“You’d better get moving, Terb, before they get here,” one of the frogmen called to the turtle as he pointed to the goblins.
Before the goblins could reach Erelon’s raft, the waters rose, crashing around the small craft. The boat was tossed into the air. The water sucked as the raft came out and plopped as it again crashed into the thick liquid. A huge mound of water rose causing the water to churn and popped like a bubble, exposing a great monster of mud. The horses began to bolt but had nowhere to run and instead began to dangerously storm around the small raft. Easton immediately came awake and began grabbin
g at reins while looking at the mud monster with huge scared eyes. Mud seeped from the monster and oozed onto the boat. It great mouth was an empty muddy cave, and the foaming water surrounded it like a kilt. What seemed to be hands formed from the mound, slowly creeping out, extending and then slapping at the water, swatting for the frogmen's boat.
“Borris!” one of the frogmen screamed, and both made ready to jump from their wooden craft, abandoning it to the monster of Fallas.
“Wait!” Erelon bellowed.
The world seemed to become still with that one word from the great wizard. Every drop of water seemed to stall, every crashing wave froze, waiting for permission from the wizard to continue on their way, and every gaze was in the wizard’s direction. Even the tubular mud tentacles from Borris seemed to stop in mid flight toward the raft.
Erelon slammed his fist into the water and bellowed in elvish. A geyser of fresh water erupted and took on a lizard’s head with scales, wings, and a tail. It propelled itself head first into the mud monster, scattering it back into the river as great chunks of mud. Huge geysers exploding from the giant lumps.
Borris came back up out of the river, a great spew of water with it. It wrapped its giant arms around the water dragon and threw all its weight onto the creature, pulling it under, into the river, trying to suffocate it in the thick rancid water. The water serpent wrapped its body around the mud monster several times and then squeezed. Again the mud exploded. The water dragon straightened its body as it streaked toward the monster, pushing it further into the depths of the river where it hit the bottom, its body of mud turning into a cloud as it dissipated.
The water dragon did not slow its speed as it flew back up into the goblin ships, its entire body thrashing, shattering the wood. Goblins were scattered into the river. Fibers of wood exploded into the air. The sails catching wind currents and gently floating in the sky like kites until the breeze died and they fell into the water. Waves washed over the enemy, submerging them, pulling them below even as they struggled to rise. It was as if every particle of the river, every molecule of water was a finger that obeyed the wizard and pulled the goblins back under. Only after the enemy ceased to struggle did their bodies float back to the river’s surface.