Yaz twists his lips as Agna disappears over a fern-covered mound. “Damned woman, I don’t know about her. She gives me a funny feeling I just don’t trust.”
“I think there’s a lot we don’t understand,” Preta says.
“Yeah, no crap, Preta, you shoot birds with lightning and talk to animals. We have crazed killers led by a psycho with a fetish for the dramatic chasing us down. And we get abducted by a hairy eight-foot monster chef who lives in a cave and tickles its meals to death. I’d say there’s a lot we don’t understand, and it all started when that damned woman showed up in our field.”
Preta shrugs. “All I know is Agna wants us alive and is helping us stay that way. It seems I have a power she understands, but I have no idea how to use it. She can help us, I know it, and maybe she’ll teach me how to use it to get back at Lomasie.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Yaz says, not convinced.
Preta spends the rest of the day next to Yaz in the shelter, sleeping and eating.
Deet keeps guard, roving the woods and looking for food. He brings back another rabbit for dinner.
After they eat, they crawl into the shelter and huddle together to keep each other warm.
Preta falls asleep the moment the sun sets. She wakes with the sun and needs to go. After doing her business, she returns to the shelter. Everyone still asleep, she looks at the bandit.
The scum stares at her in a drunken gaze, flickering his tongue.
Preta curls her lips in disgust, and she places a few sticks and a cup of water onto the coals. Her movement wakes the others, and they rise. Preta hands Deet the bowl of oats.
After Deet eats, he packs his gear. “Get your things ready, we leave after breakfast.”
Preta sets the bowl on a flat grey stone and packs her bag.
Looking refreshed, Yaz stands up with his arms outstretched above his head and he yawns. He gingerly places most of his weight on his bad leg, and he smiles.
Deet kicks dirt onto the fire, snuffing it out.
They glance at each other, waiting for someone to give the word.
Deet nods at Preta. “So you’re not going to feed your hungry friend before we leave this morning?”
“Shut up.”
FIVE-CARD DRAW
Hours pass as Preta and the others drudge through the damp, dense forest.
The chill in the air bites deep into Preta’s bones, slowing her down. Her feet sink into the mushy ground, and a pungent, dank, musky scent lingers from the rotting roots and moss. Water pools on floppy green florescent leafs as raindrops drip down from the canopy above.
The bandit tugs the rope. “This is a b-bad idea. We should’ve g-gone the other way. I’m t-telling you.”
Preta yanks the rope, jerking him forward. “Shut up, no one cares what you think.”
“See, you like to play with me. I knew you would.”
Swinging his walking stick, Yaz strikes the bandit’s leg. “Don’t talk to my sister, or I’ll cut out your tongue.”
The scum giggles. “You’re such a violent bunch. But I can t-talk to you if you like, you’re c-cute too.”
Yaz slaps the bandit’s head, sending the scum into a tree.
“Okay, okay, no t-talk.”
Mist hovers, and the air vibrates from running water echoing through the trees ahead.
“We’re here,” Agna says, slowing down, “hopefully, we get lucky.”
“What do you mean by lucky?” Preta says.
“Nothing, just keep moving forward and be as quiet as you can.”
Ahead, Deet stops and crouches down. He peeks over top a small mound of wet moss and ferns, scanning the bank of a wide river.
Agna points at the bandit but looks at Yaz. “Tie him to a tree, and gag him.”
Yaz disappears with the bandit and returns a couple minutes later.
Deet glances back at them and presses a finger to his lips signaling to keep quiet. He lies on his belly and crawls forward.
Preta and Yaz follow Deet’s lead and inch through the soggy peat and moss.
Preta gazes up at the treetops as droplets drip onto her face. They seep into her eye, making her blink. Over the mound, a steep drop-off leads to a rocky riverbank. The river is mostly obscured by giant boulders and thick fog. Holes in the mist reveal the river extends far off into the distance, and she can’t see the other side.
A glass-encased lantern hangs from a small tree and branch, illuminating three small greenish human-like creatures dressed in orange-and-brown argyle suits. They sit in chairs around a patchy moss-covered flat slate table and play cards. The creatures smoke pipes and argue in animated pointing.
One of the creatures with long orange hair and a goatee pulls a fish by its tail out of a rusty bucket and bites its head off. He spits out a bone and tosses the fish’s body into the river.
Agna shakes her head and sighs. “Vodníks, three of them, not lucky, not lucky at all.”
“Vodník?” Preta says.
“Vodník?” Yaz says.
Agna puckers her lips. “River dwellers. They live in remote areas like these and stake claim to the water.”
“So what,” Yaz says, “let’s go down and cross, they’re just little green men.”
“We can’t. They own this section of the river, and his friends probably own the sections next to him.”
“What are they going to do to us? They’re just little green fish head-eating men smoking pipes and playing cards.”
Agna snorts. “Those little green men will want payment for us to cross the river.”
“We’re not paying them crap. We can just threaten to kill those little green shits.”
“Impossible!” Agna says.
“Why?” Deet says.
“Vodníks are magical creatures, water creatures. They draw power from the water, their water. And they’ll want payment for us to cross.”
Yaz’s head bobs in disbelief, and he mocks Agna. “What? Am I hearing this right? This is stupid, we can still take them.”
“No, Yaz. If they’re near the water, they’re faster than any arrow, and they’re wicked clever and revengeful. If we try to take advantage of them by crossing the river without payment, we will lose. And even if somehow we manage to make it into the water, a fate worse than death may await us.”
“Worse than death?” Preta says, her brow arching, not understanding what Agna means. How can there be anything worse than death?
Agna crawls backward. “Just keep watching and stay silent. Once the other two leave we’ll go down and see what the price will be.”
“Why don’t we cross somewhere else?” Yaz says.
Deet’s eyes widen. “Where do you suggest? There’s no other place to cross. Like Agna said, they live all through the Rivers and we need to cross somewhere. We’re here now, so we try here.”
Yaz snorts. “Whatever.”
Deet crawls backward. “Yaz, keep watch, and signal when they leave.”
“Fine,” and he lowers his forehead, resting it in the wet dirt.
Preta follows Deet and Agna.
Deet breaks out a loaf of bread. “Let’s eat while we wait.” He hands the loaf to Preta. “How are we on supplies?”
Preta shrugs. “I guess about a day’s worth of food. Though we’re almost out of water, but the river is right down the slope.” She takes another piece of bread out of her bag, rips off a hunk, and takes it to Yaz. She taps him on his foot.
Yaz grabs the bread with his dirty hands and turns back toward the river. “I can’t believe this shit, what the hell are we doing? Hiding and scared, watching little green men play cards next to a river.”
Preta sighs. “Well, Agna said—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Agna said. Whatever, I don’t trust her.”
“But she saved you.”
“So what, I saved her too. Still, I don’t trust her; she’s hiding something, I can feel it.”
Preta sighs. “We need to trust her to get through the forest, and on to Iinia
.”
“Yeah, right, Iinia, we’ll see about that.”
Preta scoots away from Yaz and heads back to Deet and Agna.
“What do we have to give him for payment?” Deet says.
Agna pinches her chin as she calculates. “Hopefully not much, he’ll probably want gold or silver or copper, but maybe more.”
Deet, not liking what Agna is saying, he scowls. “We need our coin for the passage and we’re already short. We can’t afford to give any away.”
“I know,” Agna says, looking away.
Yaz tosses a rock toward them and waves.
They pick up their gear and move to him.
“They’re gone,” Yaz says. “But what the hell is he doing?”
Clasping his hands behind his back, the vodník paces back and forth under the lantern.
“Preta,” Agna says, “bring the scum and keep him out of sight when we get to the river.”
Deet points to the left. “There’s an opening down to the riverbank by the willow tree.”
Preta fetches the bandit and catches up to the others.
The bandit mumbles through his gag, “Mmm—mee-ohing.”
Preta scowls and jerks the man’s bindings. “Keep your mouth shut and don’t say a word.”
Preta follows close behind Deet, touching his back. The fog is thick and disorients her. She tugs on Deet’s sweater to keep him close.
They emerge on the riverbank, and Preta’s feet sink in the small pebbles and sand. The fog and a few large boulders still obscure the river. She stops next to a tree behind a boulder and ties up the bandit. Preta raises her finger and places it over her lips then slips round the boulder’s corner and catches up with Deet and Yaz. Preta immediately freezes, not moving a muscle.
The vodník stands with folded arms in front of them. The slow rolling, shrouded river echoes behind him. The vodník grins and glances at each of them; pointy, bright-yellow teeth fill his mouth. He raises his little, boney, jewelry-covered green hand and scratches his upper grey lip then rubs the brim of his tattered brown derby and pushes it up. The vodník combs his matted greenish-orange-brown hair back behind his pointy ears. Caressing a gold earring dangling half way down his neck, he hums. The vodník lowers his hands, placing them in the two front pockets of his checkered suit. “What took you so long, my friends? I’ve been waiting so patiently for you.”
Yaz leans into Deet and whispers, “How’d he know?”
“You talk loud, pale man,” the vodník says. “You gave my friends and me a chuckle. Though it seemed like you’d never come down and visit me, so I sent them away.”
Preta and Deet raise their eyebrows and give each other the same quizzical look.
The vodník points at the river. “The water, my young lady, it’s alive and speaks; voices echo to me. Now down to business, to cross my river, I presume?”
“Yes,” Agna says.
“You’re in luck, I even have a small boat you can use,” and the vodník rubs his hands together in anticipation. With wily intentions in his calculating eyes, the creature scans each one of them from head to toe. “But it’ll cost you.”
Losing his patience, Yaz taps his stick on a rock. “Cost?”
The vodník pinches his chin. “Hmm—all these fine specimens on my riverbank this fine, fair-weathered foggy day.”
“Specimens?” Preta says.
“Ah, yes—the young lady, you in particular would be a nice addition to my collection.”
Agna steps forward. “How much do you require?”
The vodník strokes his earring. “Hmm—and the ultimate prize speaks. Please, my fair lady, my name is Selenik. Now the girl, she’d be exceptional. But you, you my fine lady, you’d make me king of the river.”
Agna holds out strips of whitish-purple paper. “We have Iinian credits.”
Selenik spits a fish bone out of his mouth along with a stream of dark-green liquid. “Paper? You offer me paper? With such fine payment in front of me, no, no, no, no, no, that just won’t do. What do you expect me to do with paper out here? Wipe my behind?”
“Then what do you want for us to cross?” Preta says, opening her arms, pleading with the creature.
“My young lady, the only currency out here is gold, silver, copper, and souls.”
“Souls?” Yaz says, his eyes darting from Preta to Deet.
Selenik scratches his chin. “Ah, yes—the pale man, not nearly as worthy as the ladies, not by a far, though I may consider it with a sweetener.”
Yaz scowls and strikes the rock hard with his stick. “This is ludicrous, let’s just take him.”
“Not a very smart man though, is he?” Selenik says to himself as he strokes his orange goatee. “You can’t take me. Though I can take you if you threaten me again.”
Agna sternly points at Yaz. “Hush.” She turns back toward Selenik. “He meant no disrespect, nor do I.”
“No? I would guess not, my fair lady. I don’t imagine you will give yourself to me as payment?” Selenik reaches behind his back and presents a clear chalice with silver-and-gold floral banding.
“How much coin do you require?” Deet says.
“Why all of it, other-man,” and Selenik rubs his chalice. He nods at Deet. “Tell me, how much do you have?”
Deet glances at the ground. “We have two silver and twelve coppers.”
Selenik lowers his head with eyes still staring at Deet. “So, other-man, you play cards?”
Agna steps forward and waves her hand. “We don’t want to trick you.”
“Oh, my fair lady, so you want to sit at my table and play too? Because the other-man here wants to play with Selenik, and so he shall.”
“This is ridiculous,” Deet says.
Selenik points at Deet. “You want to play with me? You want to cross my river?”
“Fine, what are the stakes?”
“If you win, all of you cross my river with no payment. If I win, I get your soul.”
Preta grabs Deet’s arm. “No, Deet, don’t.”
Deet tugs his arm away. “Be quiet.” He eyes Selenik. “What if you win and get my soul, do the others still get to cross at no further cost?”
“Yes, they may pass with no further payment.”
“How do I know you’ll hold up your end of the bargain?”
Selenik scowls and moss-colored spit flies out of his mouth. “The deal and my word are my bond, as is yours. Once forged, I’m magically bound to it, as are you.”
“Then you have a deal, let’s play.”
Pressing both of her hands against his chest, Agna steps in front of Deet. “No, Deet, don’t do this, you don’t understand.”
“Out of my way,” Deet says, brushing Agna aside with little care.
Selenik leads them to the slate table. “Best two out of three, poker, five-card draw.”
“Fine,” Deet says.
Selenik points at a waterlogged, moldy wooden chair, appearing to be too small for a normal-sized person to sit in. “Sit.” He places the clear chalice in the middle of the table.
Preta and the others stand behind Deet.
Anxious, Preta chews her finger nails watching Selenik shuffle the cards with his little green hands.
Selenik passes Deet the cards. “Your deal.”
The cards dealt, Selenik and Deet look at their hands.
“How many do you want?” Deet says.
Selenik calmly sets his cards on the stone. “Two.”
Deet nods. “I’ll take three.”
Selenik lays down his hand. “Two pair, kings and threes.”
“Three of a kind, three eights.” Deet takes a vocal breath and relieved exhale.
Selenik rubs his chin as he scans Deet’s cards. “Nice hand, nice hand indeed. You want to raise the stakes?”
“No, just deal.”
Yaz taps Deet’s shoulder. “Nice hand, Brother, you got this, no problem.”
Selenik shuffles and deals.
Deet picks up his cards and k
eeps three.
Selenik takes one.
Deet throws his cards onto the stone table. “Pair of aces, jack high.”
Selenik puffs on his pipe and exhales a long stream of yellow, sweet smoke, and he smiles. “Two pair, two’s and fives. That’s one-one, other-man, it comes down to the last hand.” Selenik passes Deet the cards. “Your deal.”
Deet shuffles and deals out the cards.
They both discard two and take two.
“Three queens,” Deet says, tossing his cards on the table. Confident, he grins and leans back, placing both hands behind his head.
“Nice hand, very nice hand, though it doesn’t beat my straight to the seven.” Face up, Selenik lays his cards on the table one at a time.
“No,” Preta says, and she presses her hand over her mouth.
Deet drops his head and falls forward in his chair.
Yaz draws his sword.
Selenik grins at Yaz. “And what do you think you’re going to do with that sword? You want to fill one of my chalices with your soul?”
“Yaz, put it away,” Agna says, raising and lowering her hand.
“Screw this little green booger, I’m gonna open him up and shove that chalice down his fish head-eating throat.”
“Silly man,” Selenik says as he waves his arm. Yaz’s sword flies out of his hand and splashes into the fog-obscured river. “Next time, it’s your soul flying to me, you stupid—booger, was it?”
Deet tries to keep composed though fear is etched on his face. He stands up and glances at Preta then to Selenik.
Selenik gently rubs his chalice. “Now, for my payment.” He waves his hand in a figure eight, a faint-red smoke dances out his fingertips.
Deet’s head jerks forward, and he lets out a choking cough as the smoke enters his body. He convulses and hunches over with both hands smacking flat on the slate table. Deet’s knuckles turn white from gripping the edge. His face twists and goes pale—the veins in his neck pop out, and he gasps for air—spit flies out of his mouth and sprinkles his short beard. He groans. Deet’s eyes roll back into his skull until only the whites fill the sockets.
Selenik tilts the chalice opening toward Deet. “Let go of your soul, my new friend, give yourself to me; give yourself to my chalice.”
Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) Page 21
