Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1)

by Sethlen, Aron

  “I was born this way, same as you.”

  “But I wasn’t born this way,” Preta says.

  “All right, but I was; all Grine have the ability to transmorph—to a point.”

  “To a point?” Preta squints, unsure of what she means.

  Mara flicks her hair. “Shut up and keep moving. If you want to see your brothers again, no more talky-talk.”

  Preta takes it in stride and continues running forward.

  They reach the docks and turn right on the road paralleling the sea.

  Ahead, sailors unload crates of chickens from a sailboat.

  Mara skids to a stop and turns onto a long dock.

  On the right, workers load crates onto a large steamboat. A dirty white flag soiled with black soot, with the word Greatone embroidered in green lettering, flaps in the breeze.

  The snow lightens, and Mara shoves a worker unloading a donkey from the sailboat. “The Dregs?”

  The crew hand points to the end of the dock.

  Mara snarls and continues running.

  Preta tries to keep up.

  The dock is long; Preta can’t see the end. She loses her footing on the icy wooden planks and slides. She catches a post before she falls into the sea. Preta peers into the turbulent waters below and pushes off the post, sliding her back onto the dock. She regains her footing and chases after Mara again.

  After a few minutes running on the long walkway, Mara stands at the end of the dock with hands on hips.

  Preta breathes heavy stopping next to her.

  In the distance, out to sea, the blood-red stern of the Dregs’ boat sails away.

  Preta drops to her knees. “No, no, no, no—”

  “Whining won’t help now, Seery. Get up.”

  Preta stands, and she cries as she punches Mara in the arm. “Mara, don’t call me Seeros!”

  Mara sighs. “Preta, we’ll find them, but we still have to get out of here, it’s not safe, come on,” and she grabs Preta’s arm and turns her back toward Bielston.

  Preta yanks her arm away. “Why is this happening and everything going to crap? I hate this light. I hate Lomasie. And, and, and—”

  Mara hugs Preta. “And you want your brothers back, so pull it together. You need to pull it together right now or you’ll never see them again.”

  Preta pushes away. “I—I.”

  Mara releases Preta and steps toward the city. “No whining, focus on the next move, get safe, get your brothers back, and get Lomasie back. All it is, is you now. Now suck it up and let’s move.”

  Mara’s words seep in, and Preta snaps out of it and walks. I must get my brothers back. It’s all my fault they’re on the Dregs’ ship and I have to make it right.

  Mara moves faster, and Preta follows close behind.

  Ahead, steam billows from a black metal ship with a giant paddlewheel attached to the side.

  The dock vibrates under Preta’s feet.

  A worker on Preta’s left unties ropes tethered to the steamboat. “Five minutes, boys, it’s clearing up.”

  The snow is barely falling as Preta and Mara reach the road.

  Mara turns to her right and jerks to a stop. “Crap.”

  Preta, not paying attention, bumps into Mara from behind and bounces off backward. “Mara, what is it?”

  Mara doesn’t respond.

  Preta slides next to her.

  Lomasie stands at the end of the main road leading to the docks.

  Nelek is right next to him with thirty or more guards.

  Lomasie struts forward with his cane.

  Behind him, a praetor drags Agna.

  Preta extends her arm and steps forward. “No, Agna! Mara, he’s got Agna.”

  Mara yanks Preta back. “She’s already gone. Don’t worry about the old woman, think about your brothers and not her, trust me.”

  Preta sighs. “Agna—”

  Mara staggers backward, tugging Preta with her. “She can take care of herself, trust me. I guarantee she wouldn’t want you to be captured because of her.” Mara stops and places both of her hands on Preta’s shoulders and shakes her hard, trying to break through Preta’s daze. “Believe me, she would give her life a thousand times over for you. Listen to me, forget her.”

  Preta’s head wobbles, lost. “I just—I don’t know where to—what to do—”

  Mara spins Preta around and runs in the opposite direction, dragging Preta behind her.

  Twenty more guards approach.

  “Too many.” Mara spins back around, gripping Preta’s wrist. “Snap out of it! To the dock, back down the dock to that steamer that’s leaving.”

  Her words resonate and Preta wiggles loose from Mara’s grip and they both run toward the ship.

  On the right, men pull ropes up into the steamer.

  Loud knocking deafens Preta as the giant chain-link anchor rises from the water. She peeks behind her while moving forward.

  Lomasie is almost at the dock, and guards fill the road on either side of him.

  Preta continues running forward while peeking back to her side. She barrels into a ship-hand, knocking him into a crate. Preta bounces off his shoulder and she slips on the ice and tumbles to the ground.

  The gruff ship-hand scowls and throws down his rope. “Watch where you’re going!”

  Mara lifts Preta off the dock while hardly slowing down. “Get up, keep moving.” She lets go of Preta’s arm and heads for the Greatone.

  Preta regains herself and runs after her, catching up to her at the catwalk leading up to the boat. “What do we do now?”

  Mara eyes the guards fast approaching them. Her eyes shift to Preta. “Use it, Seeros.”

  “Use what?” Preta opens her arms, not understanding what Mara is talking about.

  Mara points at the tethered donkey across the dock. “Use,” then she points toward the guards almost on them, “it.”

  Preta shakes her head in confusion. “I can’t, I never did it by myself.”

  “You never did what?” Mara says.

  “On my own, I never did it before.”

  “But you’ve done it though, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Seery, if you did it, then you can do it again, and you also know how. Somewhere deep inside it is—so whatever you did—” Mara points at the quickly approaching guards. “Do it now or we’re done for.”

  Preta frantically scans the dock for an answer. Her eyes fix on the donkey. She focuses to connect, and nothing happens. Preta concentrates harder. What does she know? How to put them to sleep? Drop rocks on their heads? What was it? Dozimzy-Mezamomo? Preta strains continuing to focus on the donkey, and nothing happens. She turns away from the dock and stares at the sea as she shakes her head. “I don’t know how.”

  The sea below crashes over the rocks, and whitecaps form and dissipate.

  Preta is at a total loss. Entranced with the rolling waves, she forgets the on-coming danger. Her head sways to the rhythm of the sea.

  Mara grabs Preta and shakes her. “Snap out of it. Do it, or we and your brothers die!”

  A ripple of aqua-blue light flashes over Preta’s pupils. She whirls around and faces the donkey, and two glowing blue arrows shoot out of her boots, merge, and pierce the donkey’s chest; energy pulsates into Preta’s body, and she feels more alive than she has in weeks. Words form in her mind, Aquadiam-Maidauqa.

  With palms inward, Preta’s arms rise to her chest, her eyes clinched shut, and “Aquadiam-Maidauqa,” bellows out of her mouth. Her palms turn over and arms thrust forward.

  A faint blue orb bursts out of Preta’s hands, hovers, and disappears.

  Preta stumbles forward as the connection breaks.

  The donkey makes a high-pitched squeal and gasp then keels over the dock, falling into the sea.

  Mara places her hand on Preta’s shoulder. “What did you just do?”

  “I don’t know, I have no idea what it does; I never did it before.”

  Mara pushes Preta forward towar
d the Greatone. “Well, I sure hope it’s a good one, Seery. Now get on the boat, hurry.”

  Mara guides Preta up the steamer’s catwalk and once on deck, shoves her behind a crate.

  A man yells, “She’s a boilin’, boys. Pull the planks and push off.”

  The ship’s metal railing vibrates as the boat grinds along the dock.

  “Heave, you rats, push, push, push.”

  A loud whistle pulsates, and the deck rattles. Gears chug and lurch, and steam billows out the smokestack. The paddlewheel slowly churns and picks up speed with every revolution. The boat moves away from the dock and starts out to sea.

  Mara tugs Preta’s arm and points at the stern.

  Preta creeps along the metal rails toward the back of the boat.

  “Oh my!” a ship-hand says in a scratchy voice. “What in the blazin’ hells?”

  Toward Bielston, Preta and Mara peek over the stern.

  Guards block the dock.

  Winds pick up, swirling snow into mini cyclones.

  Snow lightly falls, and Preta stands to get a better view. A large stack of crates masks her back from the crew in the front of the ship.

  Preta eyes Lomasie holding Agna.

  Lomasie lightly taps his dagger tip on Agna’s shoulder. He gazes up at Preta and points his cane at her. He pets Agna’s hair with a gentle downward stroke. Lomasie bends over and kisses Agna’s cheek, holding his lips on her skin for a second longer than normal.

  A ship-hand rings a bell. “What’s that? Get us the hell out of here, now, now, now, make her boil, make her boil, go, go, go!”

  Lomasie raises his blade to Agna’s cheek where he kissed her. He runs the dagger tip from Agna’s eye to her chin, opening a red slit. Lomasie grins and glances back at Preta as he continues stroking Agna’s long grey hair.

  Preta flinches away, unable to continue watching, and she glances at the sea. Her body lurches back and forth as the boat chugs forward.

  A misty fog rises from the turbulent waters, and whitecaps crash over each other.

  The falling snow evaporates as it pelts the water. Large and small bubbles rise to the surface as if the sea is boiling.

  Preta turns back toward the dock.

  Guards trot toward them with grappling hooks dangling from their sides.

  The men closest to the boat swing grappling hooks in a steady, rhythmic, circular arc.

  In the corner of Preta’s eye, a single linear mist column ascends from the sea. She watches on in awe as more columns rise from the surface. The mist columns mutate into flowing watery hands.

  The hands turn toward the dock and each point to a guard or praetor. Arms shoot from the sea like arrows, tracking the men with the grappling hooks.

  “Holy crap,” a ship-hand says, ringing a bell over and over. “Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap, holy crap, get us out of here, now, now, now, now, now!”

  More hands spring from the depths.

  The hands grip the men and jerk them high into the air, pulling them straight into the sea.

  Grappling hooks dangle from the sky like swinging ornaments as the men scream in horror. Terror fills the docks, and the screeching men fly and twist like acrobats until they plunge into the sea.

  Preta stares at Bielston.

  Guards run away from the docks and disappear back into the city.

  Lomasie, on a knee, hides behind a guard. He scowls at Preta.

  Agna is nowhere to be seen, escaped or snatched by the sea without Preta seeing.

  Nelek watches on in disbelief as the chaos unfolds in front of him. He stares off into the horizon, and with fingers spread wide, a hand shoots at him. Nelek stands motionless as the misty fury crashes upon him. His face turns as white as the snow.

  The hand rips Nelek into the air.

  Lomasie tumbles backward onto his butt, and he scoots away along the icy ground.

  Lomasie’s eyes reflect fear for the first time. His eminence fades and his cocky superiority is replaced with sheer terror and confusion. Preta’s insides swell with joy and excitement as Nelek squirms high above like a fish out of water. His shrieks make Preta shiver, and she isn’t sure if it’s from the joy or terror.

  Nelek sails through the air over the Greatone’s stack, passes through the thick black cloud of smoke, and the sea drags him beneath the boiling water.

  Preta’s sharp focus shoots back toward the docks and to Lomasie.

  Lomasie stands up straight and points his cane at Preta, firing red lightning bolts out the tip.

  Preta ducks as the lightning strikes the side of the boat with a ping. Another bolt blasts into the crates behind Preta and they explode.

  Preta covers her head as splinters of wood scatter and rain down on her. Woozy, Preta grabs the ship’s frigid metal railing and peeks over the top.

  “Preta Penter!” Lomasie yells with fury at the sky while holding his arms open wide, dagger in one hand and his cane in the other. Lomasie spins away from Preta with his dagger meeting the butt of his cane with a twist. He sprints away from the road and back into the city. Lomasie veers toward a tight alley.

  More hands ascend from the sea. They snatch anything alive near Preta’s boat.

  A hand of death shoots in Lomasie’s direction.

  Preta grips the rails, squeezing them in anticipation, about to witness Lomasie’s imminent demise. Preta’s temples pulse as she clinches her teeth. Preta’s knuckles shift from red to white, and her heart flutters, imagining Lomasie swinging helplessly high in the air, screaming in horror, the same as Nelek.

  The watery hand hovers over the road. It tracks its target. Then the watery fingers shoot straight for Lomasie.

  Lomasie spins around and fires red lightning bolt after lightning bolt at the sea tracking him down. The bolts pass through the water to no effect.

  The sea’s hand is almost on him.

  Lomasie lowers his head and runs, arms pumping up and down vigorously.

  The sea’s fingertips graze Lomasie’s back as he makes a hard left, escaping into a tight alley. The watery hand follows Lomasie and splashes in a cascade of water; a linear line melts in the snow.

  Preta pounds the railing. “No!”

  The steamer moves farther out to sea and the paddlewheel spins faster.

  The snow falls harder, covering the deck in a thin sheet of white.

  Preta squeezes the railing harder. She imagines Lomasie plunging into the depths. “So close, so close, so close.” Preta squints at Bielston disappearing in the distance. Lifting her body over the ship’s rails, Preta stares at the swirling waters below.

  Small whirlpools dance behind the Greatone as snowflakes continue pelting the sea.

  Lomasie’s, Deet’s, and Yaz’s faces reflect back at Preta through the whirlpools. The faces spin away one at a time. The ship’s wake crashes over top of them, dissolving and plunging her brothers beneath the bubbling black.

  Preta pushes herself back into the boat, and she lets out a sigh.

  Mara’s mouth curls up into a proud grin. Mara nods as she wraps her arm around Preta’s shoulders. “Not bad, Seery, not bad at all. Now let’s find your brothers.”

  THANKS FOR READING

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