by Beth Wangler
“Are we going to be sharing space with those creatures?” Tatanda asks, frowning.
I peer down at the axex, who are settling themselves on the decks of various boats. “It looks like it.”
Down in the bay, we find the boat closest to the exit. Savi helps me over the gap, and Anik swings Pitka across. The boats are simple, with a single sail, a dozen oars on each side, and a wheel to turn the rudder, but no other adornments. There’s a single hatch to below deck, with one level of benches for oarsmen and one of bunks for three-score people built into the hull. Barrels of drinking water are fastened to the wall. Whatever miracle kept the boats in repair also kept the water fresh.
Climbing down the ladder will be challenging for me for a while, so Savi shows our families below deck to claim sleep space.
I hobble to the wheel, where Forziel’s taken his place. He’s the only person we have who’s studied maps of the world, a product of his time in his father’s house. He’s also one of our most experienced sailors from his time working on granite ferries, so he remains our guide. Forziel’s even more essential now than before, as we head into unfamiliar waters.
“Sorry I couldn’t get the axex to go home,” Forziel says, frowning at the animal lying on our dock. “Lightning’s being stupid.”
The axex tilts its head at Forziel. I could be projecting, but it seems like the creature is laughing at Forziel.
“You did what you could,” I assure him. “They’ll just have to look after themselves on this trip.”
Forziel turns his eyes to the sky. “They’re gonna have to. We’ll have our work cut out for us against those clouds and these waves. I don’t like the way it looks.” He taps the wheel restlessly. “Ain’t it folly to head out in weather like this? The aivenkaites’re gonna come for us.”
I’m quiet, listening for Aia’s guidance. “Something tells me we’ll be better off out there than in here,” I answer at last. “We’re not safe either way. Goodness, the aivenkaites almost killed me on this island before I left last time.”
“They near killed us in prison, too,” he points out. “And every other time. How’re we gonna keep thousands of people safe against enemies we can’t kill?”
Nerves grow in my stomach, energy that won’t rest. “We trust Aia. He didn’t bring us out here just to let us die.”
“You sure?” a stranger asks, fidgeting with his chanavea.
I nod decisively. “I’m positive.” And I really am.
It must be past midday by the time the last Maraian is on a boat and ready to sail, but the sky is dark with angry clouds blotting out the sun. Forziel calls out orders. We scurry about at his command. The sails lower and fill with wind. The ropes binding us to the island are untied. We inch toward the bay’s inlet.
Rocky cliffs striped red and yellow slide past. Then the ocean opens before us, vast and gray and angry. Our little boat teeters in the waves.
Behind us, boats trail out of the bay in a haphazard trickle. They remind me of the ducklings who came to the pond where the kaites raised me, tiny fluff balls bobbing between their parents.
I split my time watching the boats and the sky. Savi joins me. He casually unsheathes Elgarnoseth and rests its tip on the deck.
The last boat leaves the harbor. I copy Saviayr, readying Luemikaroeth.
Slowly, Ira shrinks into the distance. It’s a small hill, a short hump, a tiny speck.
It’s gone, swallowed by the sea’s expanse.
The waves still. The boiling clouds hush.
Then the sky breaks.
Chapter 46
“Close the hatch,” Forziel shouts, hanging all his weight on the wheel. A wave rises higher than the mast. People scurry for the hatch.
“Hold on!”
I throw my cane arm around the nearest handhold, a taut rope. The boat faces straight into the rising water.
The wave crashes over us. I hold Luemikaroeth over my head and try not to choke on the endless wave.
Then we’re through that wave, and another looms up.
“Furl the sail. Tie yourselves to the deck or get below,” Forziel yells. His face is white from effort.
I scan the deck. Savi’s tying a rope around his waist. Gold hair catches my eye. “Yori! Get below,” I shout to her.
She’s going to protest, I can see it in her face.
“Stay with Mama Nihae,” I add.
Yori’s eyes narrow, but she does what I say.
Another wave pounds down. I almost lose hold of the boat. Then I’m gasping for air and Savi is here, lashing me to the deck. He brushes loose hair from my forehead. “You with me?”
“Always.”
The wind shrieks, flying back and forth as kaites and aivenkaites grapple over our heads. The men work to wrap up our sail, but shrieking winds burst the cloth. It snatches from their control. A couple men hold the corners of the fabric and fly through the air. When it cracks, they fly off and thud onto the deck that’s now ankle-deep in water.
Forziel shouts. The wheel slips from his hands.
Drigo and Anik dive for him as the deck dips. The three of them barely manage to regain control of the boat. “Steer toward the waves, or we’ll be swamped,” Forziel yells. Together, the three of them wrestle against the shifting currents.
The water on deck begins to swirl. It grabs my feet, pushes me up. Struggling to keep my balance, I desperately swipe Luemikaroeth at the shallow whirlpool. The metal digs into the water, and whatever aivenkaite was there cries out in pain.
I hack at the rest of the water on the deck. The water eddies away from me but assaults the others on deck just the same. Wind grabs my hair, yanking me toward the railing. I lash out, swinging my sword, and it collides with what looks like thin air. Luemikaroeth’s blade gradually starts to glow.
Somewhere Savi imitates me, swinging Elgarnoseth against the evil spirits. More and more, his swings force the aivenkaites back, even if he does not touch them.
But we are only two against countless thousands. The kaites do what they can to keep the aivenkaites away from the ships, but the sea and air are spacious, and the kaites can do little but contain one or two aivenkaites each. Except for them, it is only us two humans with two metal sticks trying to save a nation from the sea.
The fury born out of desperation makes Luemikaroeth’s light grow. As on our flight to the coast, the light spreads from my blade to Savi’s. This time it arcs around us, a blue-glow film encompassing us and the nearest boats in a globe.
But it’s not enough. Everywhere, our boats struggle against the unruly waves. The aivenkaites still disintegrate at contact with our swords’ light shield, but slowly. Some of them reach the boats before they’re yanked back into the Void. My people are still being injured, thrown into the water, killed.
Our boat lurches, tilting almost vertical. My sandals lose purchase. We slide along the deck or fall, only caught by our ropes.
There’s a snap. Savi’s rope breaks. He plunges toward the gaping ocean.
I scream for him.
A bolt of fur and feathers flashes under him. An axex catches him.
I breathe again.
There’s another gust of angry wind and more water leaping at me, trying to catch me off guard. The boat tilts again, racing down a wave toward its valley. We tumble forward.
Another axex darts into sight. It looks at me with one bird eye, then the other.
Overhead, Savi and his axex spiral and dart and slash at the aivenkaites. His added mobility gives him more of an advantage, makes Savi a greater threat against the aivenkaites.
I slice through my rope, clamber on this axex, and join him in the air.
We wheel through the air, shooting up, dipping down to the sea, chasing the enemy as fast as we can. We dodge masts and waves. We slice and stab and hack.
But no matter what, more keep coming.
With a deafening crack, one of the farthest boats splits in two.
My people are drowning.
And th
at’s it. I’m done with this.
“Aivenah!” I scream, voice raking my throat.
The storm pauses. The waves suspend midair.
I whistle for the axex to hover. “Show yourself, you coward! Stop sending your lackeys after us and face Aia’s people yourself!”
The world hums in dread and anticipation.
“I’m talking to you, foul fiend, wicked rebel, petulant wretch. Aivenah, show yourself!”
Savi mutters my name in warning.
A wave in front of me undulates and stretches higher, higher, higher. I lean back, signaling for the axex to give more space between us and the water. The wave takes shape, surging until it looks like a giant salamander with bat wings and a double-forked tongue: one of the zindrumih.
It opens its mouth. The voice that comes out makes the marrow of my bones ache. “Hello, little Champion.” It laughs. “Surprised to see me?”
My heart almost fails.
I shake off the surging doubt. My days of fear are over. With a shrill cry, I urge the axex toward our ancient enemy.
Aivenah plucks my axex’s wing and holds us suspended in the air.
“Ah, you thought you were great enough to harm me, did you?” The liquid reptile laughs. “I, whose power rivals that of Aia Himself? I, who caused Elcedon to be destroyed and Orrock severed from ierah? Is that what you thought, little Mailoua?”
It was.
I take in the ocean, waiting to swallow me whole. I look into the face of Aivenah: more terrible than my worst nightmare.
This is the end for me. But I have to try to do some good for my people. I draw back Luemikaroeth to hurl it at the evil one.
“Enough!” a voice booms over the too-still water.
Aivenah and I both look for the voice, which comes from the top of the nearest ship’s mast. Nhardah hugs the pole with one arm. The Firstborn’s shoulders are straight; his face is full of rage and power that match the fury of the wind.
“Who are you to tell me enough, Nhardah the Firstborn?” Aivenah asks.
“I am just that—one of the Firstborn,” Nhardah answers. “Beloved by Aia.”
“Do not taunt me!” Aivenah roars. “Remember your inferiority. I watched your birth.”
“And you will never see my death!” Nhardah retorts. “How that rankles you, who hunger for the end of all that Aia cherishes. You, who rejected His favor for your own power.”
Aivenah stretches taller. “Do not pretend to know my mind. Have you a reason for speaking, or do you delight in angering your greatest foe?”
“I propose an exchange,” the Firstborn says calmly. “You want to drown Maraiah, but I can give you something better.”
“What can you offer that will possibly tempt me? I have them all here in my grasp, all of Aia’s precious, pathetic, chosen humans.”
“You don’t, though,” Nhardah says. “If you kill them, I will still live to thwart you and spread the truth about Aia. Remember His promise to me. Your victory will be empty.”
“Then what do you propose?”
Nhardah never wavers. “You will not touch them. You will leave Maraiah alone, unharmed forever. No member of my family, even those adopted, will be touched by you or your followers.”
“What can you possibly give me that might incline me to agree?” the wave hisses.
“Me.”
The king of the aivenkaites grins.
“No!” Savi and I cry out in unison.
From his perch, Nhardah-Lev looks at us and nods.
Aivenah starts to laugh, and his laughter grows. The air and water fill with the snickers and guffaws of aivenkaites.
“You have a deal,” Aivenah declares. “I accept you in exchange for them.”
“Tell them about me,” Nhardah orders us. Then he lets go and plunges into the sea.
Chapter 47
The sea calms.
Kaites right the boats.
Clouds clear.
The ocean smooths.
And I’m breaking.
“Clear back, let them land,” Drigo orders the people on our boat’s deck. He herds them back so that Savi’s and my axex can land. Hands help us down from our mounts. The world blurs. Luemikaroeth slips from my grasp.
I don’t pick it back up.
Savi gathers me in his arms, and my knees buckle. We sink to the deck and weep.
“I don’t understand,” one of the Maraians whispers. “What happened? Who was that man?”
That just makes me cry harder.
“Don’t you know your own history?” Hoenna asks. His eyes are red. “That was your ancestor, the ancient immortal Firstborn.”
“Firstborn?” someone asks. “But they all died a long time ago.”
Nhardah, the last of the Firstborn, blessed or cursed with immortality—how could he give himself over to Aivenah?
“Quiet, before you embarrass yourself more,” Drigo snarls. His voice wavers at the end. He covers by glaring at the Maraian and turning to the railing.
There’s a bang: the hatch thrown open. Everyone is watching, but I don’t care. My heart is splitting in two. I can scarcely breathe. Savi’s tears mingle with mine.
It is my latest nightmare come true. The memory echoes in my mind: Guttural screams, too much crimson blood, pain, pain, pain. Nhardah will be taken to the Void, where no human has ever survived, and tormented beyond imagination for generations. There will be no rest, no relent, no salvation from any of us. He is beyond our help.
Small arms wrap around Savi and me. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’re safe,” Yori murmurs.
Savi struggles to compose himself enough to say, “Yor, it’s Nhardah. He...the enemy has him.”
Hoenna’s nearby, whispering the story to Yorchan. She sucks in a breath. After a while, she tries to comfort us. “He’s had a long life. It’s horrible, what happened, but he did it to protect his descendants. Nhardah did it for you, Rai, Savi. He won’t suffer for long.”
“You don’t understand,” I sob. Though all now die, yet you shall live. “He can’t die.”
Yori is quiet for a moment. When she speaks, it’s as one explaining a terrible truth to a child. “Rai, there’s no way he can survive Aivenah.”
“No one survives the Void,” someone adds.
Savi pulls me closer. I bury my head in his chest. “He can’t die,” he repeats my words. “Aia’s promise— ‘Though all now die, yet you shall live.’”
Yori sucks in a breath.
Despair and finality choke Savi’s voice. “Aivenah will torment him forever.”
It’s the next day before we rally. Savi and I spend most of that time huddled together, grieving. Those who knew Nhardah join us from time to time, a somber group weighed down by speechless horror. The sky on the horizon is a short band of burnt orange, and the murky water slowly clears, when I speak again. Except for Yori, half-dozing nearby, Savi and I are alone at the prow of the boat.
“It should have been me.”
“What?” Savi tenses beside me.
“It should have been me, not Nhardah.”
“That’s ridiculous. Rai, don’t say that.” Savi scowls.
I rub my forehead, which is swollen from crying. My head throbs. “It is not ridiculous.”
Yori stirs. “I don’t understand,” she says, voice scratchy. “Why would you want to be in Nhardah’s place?”
“I don’t want to be in his place, but I should be. Aia chose me from birth to lead Maraiah. I was the one who called Aivenah out during the battle. It’s my fault he appeared.” The memory fills me with dread. I turn away from the ocean, trying to block out the blue waves that shimmer merrily under the clear sky.
“Oh.” Savi slumps. He rubs his hands over his face. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t think Aivenah was far away, not with all Maraiah in boats like we were—like we are—heading to the land of promise. He would have showed up eventually.”
There’s more, though. The thought eats at me until I voice it. “Also, I can die.”
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Savi buries his head in his hands and shudders. “Don’t say that.” His voice catches. “Please. Rai, back in the battle, I really thought…” Another tremor passes through him. “I thought I was going to lose you again.”
I’ve hurt Savi, and Nhardah’s in torment, and the guilt chokes me. I don’t know what to do. But I can’t lose Savi, not now. I reach for him. When he doesn’t flinch away, I cup his cheek. “Savi.”
Savi starts crying again, silent. I brush away his hot tears before they mingle with his beard. He turns toward me, and I pull him close and hold him. My tears dampen his hair.
With a groan as she stretches, Yori leaves us alone.
Our tears don’t last for long. Neither of us have much left in us at this point. I hold Savi and whisper promises of staying even after he has calmed.
The sun burns my arms, but I can’t bring myself to care.
At length, Savi asks, “Do you really feel responsible for Nhardah?”
I can’t get the words out, but I nod.
Savi pulls back and looks right at me. “What happened with him was not your fault, Rai. The aivenkaites were going to destroy us. You did what you thought you had to do, and Nhardah did what he thought he had to do. It was his decision. Remember at the Havilim? Nhardah said he wanted to be more involved in the events of Orrock instead of sitting idly by. He did that. He got to save us all.”
I tug on my chanavea—Savi’s chanavea—around my neck. “But shouldn’t I have been the one to save us? I’m Raiballeon. You and I are the Champions. It should be us doing the great sacrifices.”
Savi bites his lip. “Maybe Aia has something different in store for us. Maybe we’re still needed, while Nhardah’s time is over for now.”
“What can we do that the Firstborn couldn’t?”
Savi rests his head against mine. “I don’t know. But we can start by honoring his memory. We can start by telling his story.”
So that is what we do. In the evening, we gather those on our boat together. Savi and I face our people with the setting sun in our face.
