Waterlogged (The Valkwitch Saga)

by Michael Watson

  At first it was a relief, as the mists had a pleasant cooling effect on the air. But between bell tolls a hush had descended on the Drifter. Tyrissa could hear the sound of people moving into position and opening the crates of equipment. The distinctive crank of a crossbow being prepared clicked out over the misty river.

  The mists pressed closer, so thick it seemed the boat was cutting through a wall of ethereal cotton. Water beaded against her skin and set off a telltale tingle of magick in the air. Tyrissa’s heart kicked up a notch and she felt a surge of heat in her blood as a trickle of fire elemental energy pulsed in her veins. She took hold of the inner fire and the familiar feel of wresting control of elemental energy raced through her. Tyrissa gathered the still weak amounts of fire magick into her right hand. She didn’t have much to work with.

  Yetz held up an elchemical lantern and angled its light into the murk that had settled across the river. The yellow beam did little to part the fog or add to the stronger spotlight above them.

  “Allow me,” Tyrissa said. Acting even more on impulse than normal and without further warning she threw her hand forward, funneling out what magick she’d absorbed from the mists. A flaming bar of orange light burned into the fog and created a tunnel of clarity a hundred feet forward of the Drifter. Tyrissa felt an immediate nervous emptiness as the power left her, like a shot of adrenaline wearing off after a false alarm.

  The tension snapped taut again as her bolt of fire burrowed into a massive wall of jagged white ice spanning the river ahead. The mists quickly filled in the gap of vision she created, but she and Yetz had enough time to recognize just how dire the new obstacle was.

  “All stop!” Yetz bellowed over his shoulder at the navigation nest.

  “All stop, aye!” came the response. The creak and calls of activity reached an immediate frenzy as the Drifter shuddered towards the approximation of a stop. Yetz peeled away from his post, leaving Tyrissa alone at the fore of the ship. She remained still and focused on the mists. As much as part of her wanted to take up her staff and join in the physical defense, she knew the Cadre and crew could handle any coming attack. She had a much more specific role here.

  Tyrissa extended her senses. The mists’ magick was diffused in the air but remained interconnected, a vast lattice of water magick laid across the river. Tyrissa spread her arms wide, reaching out through the mists but suppressing her Pact’s hunger to draw in all magick she touched. Keeping the absorption restrained, she could feel the entirety of the waterpact’s creation. Even the glacial wall ahead could be sensed, though she did not attempt to tap its power. Feeling out the boundaries of the mists took precious moments, but once she found them it was a matter of grabbing hold, relaxing the suppression of her own gravity, and letting her Pact do its work.

  Tyrissa paused at the edge of absorbing the magick in full. She had handled water magick before but it was the crude, efficient result of her Pact converting fire magick. This was altogether more detailed. For a floating, endless second she could feel every detail of the area cloaked by the mists. The Drifter and its complement. Six small and quick boats approaching the Drifter from either side. The surrounding trees, every leaf, every arcing root. Every shift in the air, every eddy in the river, every insect and bird. To the east was an overflowing presence of cold magick. Human. Male. The waterpact. She could almost make out his face, like an impression against a silk sheet. All of this was delivered with an overwhelming clarity of thought, sensation, and omen. Every motion in the waters and mist meant something, all spoken in a language not simply foreign to Tyrissa, but unknowable. It was too much.

  Tyrissa brought her hands together in a clap and relaxed the suppression of her Pact’s absorption. The whole of the created mists collapsed into Tyrissa in an icy wet swirl, draining into her body and leaving her thoroughly soaked. She shivered exactly once before her Pact converted the water magick to its counterpoint and her blood ignited into an internal, barely contained inferno. The Fire. Passion and Rage and Power. For an incendiary moment Tyrissa’s awareness burned away, the memory of the positioning of every tree and boat and person in the mists now ashes on the winds of a firestorm.

  It was all far too much to handle at once. Tyrissa couldn’t keep it all contained in her blood. Rivulets of flame began to curl around her body, dancing and wild. They did not burn her and their heat was blunted away, but neither were they completely hers to command. She raised a hand, marveling at its shifting, burning aura of fire. She could only imagine what she looked like to everyone else, an incendiary figurehead at the Drifter’s prow.

  Release some pressure.

  The thought triggered an outflow of flames in front of her. With a desperate willing, she funneled the fires away from the Drifter to rain up and out over the river. Trees along the nearby inundated banks caught fire, their waxy leaves smoldering alight to produce another growing pall over the scene, mist replaced with smoke.

  Tyrissa’s vision swam, a heady rush nearly overwhelming her. It was a wonder she remained freestanding and didn’t reach out for a handhold, railing or otherwise. After a heart-pounding moment of relative stillness, she felt her burning blood settle to a steady boil, denoting some measure of control.

  A shrill horn rang out across the bloated river and surrounding swamps. It sounded like a call for retreat. Understandable considering their cover of mists had been suddenly erased and portions of the tree line set on fire. Tyrissa snapped back to the here and now, eyes focusing to the east side of the river where she’d felt the significant well of water magick. A Pactbound, her target. She caught sight of a figure gliding away through the mangroves, his feet coasting along a trail of solid ice forming up from the river water and breaking apart into melting chunks as he departed. He knew of her presence as Tyrissa knew of his and he wanted no part of a fight. For now, at least.

  Tyrissa restrained herself from hurling the magick she’d absorbed after him and instead focused the font of fire and rage at the oncoming wall of ice across the river ahead. Though the Drifter had warning of the sudden barrier, their momentum still carried them upriver against the Callen’s weak current. Tyrissa replanted her feet and willed the inferno in her blood to focus into her arms. As before she threw her hands forward and funneled out the fires within. Instead of a modest bolt or bar she unleashed two massive jets of white-hot flame from her hands. Her heart rose in triumph as twin columns of dragon flame barreled into the wall of ice and flashed the center to steam upon contact.

  Guiding her arms outward, she traced the flames along the wall as the Drifter drew close to the barrier. In seconds the structure collapsed into navigable fragments of melting ice. Tyrissa hissed in a breath and clenched her fists, mentally and physical yanking back the flames, the magick resisting like a pair of massive, leaping war hounds on too-weak leashes. The jets of fire sputtered out and rings of attendant floating flames orbited her hands for a moment before vanishing without a hint of smoke.

  Tyrissa held onto the remaining, much reduced level of fire magick in her blood. She kicked her staff free from its lashing on the deck and caught the steeloak weapon just above the central metal band. She gave the staff a whirl and turned in place, each motion feeling as if it were propelled by a blast from a forge’s bellows. Heat followed in the wake of her every move and her recently soaked clothes had been dried in a flash, residual steam curling off the fabric. From what she’d seen in her hunts of fire magick Pactbound and creatures, their element was much more tied to physical motion and gestures than the others.

  With the river ahead clear, Tyrissa cast her gaze around for a target. Aside from a retreating boat already well away and in the cover of the western swamp, the fore of the Drifter was clear of attackers. She heard some shouts from the rear of the boat and set off on a burning sprint after it.

  Even in her fueled haste, she arrived too late for any further action. At the rear of the boat, splayed out across the wider deck above the engines, was the result of a failed boarding. A small b
oat had hooked onto the rear deck where the climb from the river was an easy hop. A pair of green and brown clad corpses lay next to each other, surrounded by a trio of Cadre men. Floating on the river behind them and drawing further away was another floating corpse, a pair of crossbow bolts sprouting from his back. A fourth Cadre man sat on a crate near the rear entrance to the interior of the Drifter, his wounds being tended to by a crewwoman spreading salve on a long, shallow cut. Across the deck, Jesca spoke with the Drifter’s captain.

  Tyrissa waited as Jesca made a round with the present Cadre, lingering a moment longer with the lightly wounded man. A pair of Cadre members searched through the pair of slain bandits on deck as she waited, and the gathered crew returned to their posts at the Captain’s quietly spoken order. Tyrissa let the fire magick in her blood cool off, releasing it through a small, discrete flame dancing in a cupped palm. Eventually Jesca came up to Tyrissa. She’d want a report on the more magickal dealings in the brief attack.

  “Did you see their guy out there?”

  “I did. He bailed once he felt my presence in his mists. A waterpact for sure.”

  “Strong?”

  “Can’t say,” Tyrissa said with a wry smile she knew would irk Jesca. “First time dealing with a waterpact.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t set fire to the boat, though you could have had better timing on clearing the mists, Ty,” Jesca said with a frown. “Could have had more of them close enough to catch and question.” She said all this with a quiver of tiredness in her voice, even though she’d been well above the limited fighting. All the same, Tyrissa heard it as ‘I told you so. We can’t rely on Pactbound, even you.’

  Tyrissa doubted she could have held onto the mists for much longer even if she were cognizant of the tactics Jesca had in mind. Too much information, too much to take in, and an overpowering desire to nullify it all. She had limited control over the last one, like holding the reins of a horse that had a different destination in mind and not a care for its rider’s desires. Her control of her own powers was an ongoing project.

  “Hopefully they’ll write this one off as a better financed run instead of something more. Though your display at the prow doesn’t help sell that story.”

  “It was either that or smash into the barrier,” Tyrissa snapped. Perhaps the lingering levels of fire in her blood were still too high.

  Jesca held her gaze for a moment, always in study, balancing her usefulness against trustworthiness. “You’re right. It was the correct move.” The engines below their feet shuddered back to life and the soft lapping of the Drifter’s propulsion resumed.

  “It was too much to hope we’d get enough of them in this ruse,” Jesca said loud enough for the nearby Cadre members to hear as well. “We’ll be in Stotten before nightfall and from there we’ll sort out a proper raid and capture these guys.”

  Tyrissa nodded with the others. One step closer to the end point of the Cadre’s mission and the true beginning of her Calling. She caught a glimpse of her quarry in the swamps today, turning her Calling from an ill-defined direction to another manhunt. The most worrying thing was, with the residual pulse of fire magick in her veins, Tyrissa was excited at the prospect.

  Chapter Five

  Stotten lay astride a pair of low islands hunching out of the waters of the surrounding swamp, a non-committal shrug from the land itself. As the Drifter slowed on its approach to what she assumed were docks, Tyrissa initially mistook Stotten for a collection of debris that had somehow collected at this point on the river. The town spread out from its two islands like a cluster of manmade mangroves, an amalgamation of buildings on stilts, grounded boats converted to fixed structures, and a web of interconnecting platforms, bridges, and walkways. The whole thing looked entirely improvised and if Kesh was a town with never-to-be-met glorious ambitions, Stotten never had any in the first place.

  The Drifter didn’t dock so much as merge into the town, becoming a temporary part of the chaos. In fairness, the dock area was the most well-defined portion of town, with a row of berths and a few weathered warehouses standing on premium solid land. If Tyrissa narrowed her view she could almost trick herself into seeing a normal riverside scene.

  The Cadre would be the only cargo exchanged here, as the Drifter was bound further up the Callen. Aside from a weary dock master, no one greeted their arrival. As they disembarked, Tyrissa could feel a thick air of suspicion descend over the area, the handful of nearby locals eyeing them without a hint of welcome. Then again, a platoon of armed strangers stepping off a barge should provoke such a reaction. They were here to help but it was clear their aid was grudgingly accepted. All the same, the rambling structure of Stotten tempted Tyrissa, begging to be wandered through, but it was already late in the day and their orders were to retire early and prepare for the coming mission tomorrow.

  * * * * *

  Tyrissa awoke to the sensation of magick shifting through her skin, soft as a lover’s touch, and she sat up in controlled alarm to find the source. Jesca and the two other women from the Cadre remained asleep in their narrow cots, one faintly snoring. A misplaced chill hung in the air and while the rickety window was open to the summer night, that wouldn’t account for it all. A fading trail of frost curled across the cloudy glass.

  Sidling up to the window, Tyrissa peered around the frame. A thin mist filled the air around Stotten’s only sizable inn, The Willow. The haze held a dispersed magick that drew her attention. Tyrissa reached out and tapped it as before, once again reeling from the cloud of sensation that sprang up in her mind showing every contour and detail of the inn’s exterior and every insect buzzing through the night air. Just as she found the source, again a well of frigid power, the mist dissipated. She was able to draw in a token amount of its energy, enough to burn away any lingering grogginess of sleep.

  The waterpact was in Stotten tonight. She had to assume this was his way of calling her out.

  I’d best oblige him.

  Tyrissa dressed quickly, found her boots, and took up her dagger. The weapon was built of silvery steel and stamped with the Valkwitch emblem at the cross-guard: a shield of four segments bearing feathered wings, five feathers a side. She’d found it while seeking out the nature of her Pact. Its previous owner had gone missing and, she assumed, was connected to her newfound, inherited legacy. So she never felt too guilty about looting the dagger from an abandoned house, since the weapon continued to serve its purpose in a different hand.

  She slipped away without disturbing any of the Cadre women. Downstairs, The Willow’s common room was empty aside from a single dozing night guard and a pair of passed out patrons whom she assumed were regular enough customers to warrant not getting tossed out. As soon as her feet stuck the planks of the walkway outside the inn Tyrissa felt a spike of magick hurtling towards her. Her blood flared in response and a flush of heat ran across her skin as she dodged to the side. A thin spear of ice crunched into the wood of the walkway and shattered into quickly melting pieces. Nothing followed, making it a flashy means of gaining her attention.

  Tyrissa cast her gaze around the chaotic rooflines of Stotten, knowing full well that when it came to Pactbound it was easier to find them above than at street level. A silhouette stood atop a shop a few doors down from the inn. He balanced on the edge of the roof with a carefree air, shrouded in a spectral aura of mist. Once she saw him he spun on his heel and slipped out of sight at a run.

  Ah. One of these. I love a good chase. Tyrissa set off in the pursuit, her boots resounding off the creaking, weathered wood of Stotten’s makeshift streets. The waterpact left a trail of magick in the air, a path of swirling mists flitting over the rooftops and drifting down to the ground level walkways.

  Every step brought her a taste of water magick and her blood began its rise to a crescendo of fire. She didn’t have much time to examine the sensation of being full of fire magick in the aborted river attack. Had no time to savor the heart-pounding excitement, the heady mix of rage and pass
ion, an exhilarating, primal combination of emotions and desires. She was an engine of impulse and action, her every motion fueled by the furnace within. Each elemental power possessed a different set of effects on the body or mind. But none she had dealt with so far felt as damned wonderful as fire.

  A mix of magick and natural mists conspired with the town’s scattered, rust-clad lamps to create golden pools in night’s murk. Tyrissa darted through these isles of light and increasingly trailed a fiery light of her own. Fences, stairways, and narrow hidden paths flew by in the night. There were gratefully few people on the streets of Stotten by night, few eyes to spot the paired elemental figures in the darkness, the sort of half-glimpsed sight where rumors are born.

  Though slipping in and out of sight like an elusive fish from the hook, the waterpact had descended from the rooftops and she was gaining on him. Graceful as he was in his every motion, he had nothing on the raw, unnatural speed of the fire magick pumping through Tyrissa’s veins. But he wasn’t making the chase too easy, and had he really wanted to escape Tyrissa knew it was a simple matter of leaping from Stotten’s warren of floating wood to the surrounding waters where she would have a much more difficult time following.

  No, this one wanted to be chased. He was feeling her out. Testing her ability. And in turn Tyrissa did the same.

  He paused at the central channel between the two islands at the heart of town. With the build-up of construction the gap was only about twenty feet wide. The waterpact stepped right off the edge of the boardwalk and continued on a walkway of ice called up from the waters below. He stopped at the center of the waterway and stood on a rising pillar of mud-streaked ice.