Wavebreaker_Book II of the Stone War Chronicles_Part 1_Trickle

by A. J. Norfield

  Decan’s eyes filled with tears. What was going on? Why was this happening?

  “Triss! I haven’t found Triss yet!” he screamed as his mother dragged him, spurring him to run as fast as he could.

  His father caught up with them as they plowed through the soft sand behind their house. But as they turned the corner, they saw a group of soldiers already coming up the path in front of them. Turning back, they ran the other way. This time, they did not even make it three steps before they saw another group of men coming at them from the other side, crossbows and swords at the ready. It was too late.

  As the arrows flew through the air, both mother and father did the only thing they could. Decan felt their protective embrace surround him. The outside world seemed to disappear. He remembered such hugs, often given to him throughout his life. The kind of hug where you squeeze someone tightly and refuse to let go, just to enjoy it a little while longer. The hug that says, I am there for you. You can count on me.

  Decan squeezed back as hard as he could. He felt his parents’ love pour through him. The smell of his father’s sweat mixed with the sweet scent of his mother’s hair. He wished for nothing more, even if somewhere in the mix was the rude interruption of the smell of fish.

  He did not mind staying like this, hidden far away from the outside world. From what was about to happen.

  But reality has no patience. It waits for no one…and there was no escape. Decan flinched as the sounds from the world forced their way into his protective shell. The thuds that reached his ears were like death knocking on his door.

  Chapter 1

  Storm

  “Stupid father!”

  Trista threw a rock from the cliff. A second one was already in the air before the first splashed into the ocean below. Both were swallowed by the waves. She watched the restless water. Large, foaming waves crashed against the cliff, so strongly that each erupted in a spray of water toward the sky. The salty water wet her face in a soft mist.

  “What are you so angry about?” she yelled at the ocean. “Who has offended you so, that the oceans swell and waves slam against the land? Or do you have a father, too?”

  Trista observed the goddess’ fury. She could relate. Frustration gnawed at her insides. The morning’s conversation crept back into her mind again and the low simmer of her anger flared up once more.

  She threw another rock. How could they do this to me?

  She knew she had her moments, but they were a close family and they always looked out for each other. Which was precisely why it all felt like such a betrayal.

  Earlier that day, her father had started up that conversation again. Though, actually, it had started two years ago, when her mother carefully inquired whether she ‘liked’ anybody in the village. When Trista had told her no, the conversation had quickly flowed to the unpleasant topic of a waterbond. They were worried about her staying alone; she should find a boyfriend, a husband—think about having a future with someone.

  Back then, she had been able to brush it off quite easily, but as the months progressed, her mother and father brought up the topic more often in the hope that she would begin taking their advice.

  Trista never really knew why she resented it. Most girls in the waterclans were bonded when they turned seventeen or eighteen, choosing their husband during the yearly springwater festival, which was held in celebration of the returning fish migrations. It was a time of abundance in food and joy as the ocean waters warmed up and the whales came to the island waters to have their calves. As the official guardians of the water goddess, these gentle, giant creatures were considered a very good omen for anyone who wished to build a future together.

  Often the bonded couples had been courting for quite some time. But sometimes a girl would bond with a man she had met only that day. Trista’s friends talked about how you instantly knew when you saw the person meant for you, but she had never experienced it herself, and highly doubted if there was such a thing as the feeling.

  She pushed her red hair back behind her ear as the wind tried to take hold of it. She turned around to escape the rain of another colliding wave and noticed a small, fuzzy ball of feathers fluttering back and forth at the foot of the higher cliff wall behind her. She moved from rock to rock until she reached the chick. Its feathers were brownish-white with darker spots.

  “Did you want to get out of the house, too?” she said as she carefully used her scarf to pick up the chick. She took a step back and looked up in search of a nest.

  “You know, it’s not that I’ve not gotten enough attention from the boys here,” she said to the young bird. “I mean, I went on plenty of dates, but they always seemed to want something from me.”

  The chick let out a squawk.

  “Or as soon as I had beaten them at their own game, like catching the biggest fish with a spear, or seeing who runs across the cliff’s boulders the fastest, they lose interest. I guess they preferred the pretty house girls from the town…not that it bothered me, or anything,” said Trista, adding a small lie at the end.

  “If only mother would leave it alone. But no, she needs to bring it up time and again.”

  And the talks had become more unsettling every time, not only for her, but also for her mother.

  “She thinks I can only be happy if I find a man, but I don’t see how that works. I’m perfectly happy as I am.”

  The spotted chick stared at her, its head tilted as though listening intensely.

  “One time, mother got so upset. She yelled at me, ‘Do you want to end up alone in this world?’”

  Trista flashed an apologetic smile at the chick, recollecting that particular day.

  “I nearly exploded,” she confessed. “’Alone would be better than putting up with your constant nagging every day’—or so I would have screamed if I had not bitten my tongue, for there wouldn’t have been a point in saying it.”

  And she would not have meant it. She loved her mother and father; had a great deal of respect for them, too. So she was glad that she had stopped herself from uttering such hurtful words. She knew the stories that went round the island about her. She never let it bother her, but she did see the strain it had on her parents’ relationship at times.

  “See, I really don’t mind being alone. Besides,” Trista continued, “most of the men from the clans are perfectly happy on the islands, ready to follow in their father’s footsteps with no sense of adventure. That’s not me. I love the islands, the ocean, but I want to see what’s out there beyond the horizon. Sail the world, like the clans did in the old days. That must have been amazing.”

  It was like a flow inside her; a trickle that constantly drove her mind beyond the edge of her vision. And she was certainly not the only one in their family. She had seen it in her little brother, too.

  She had hoped her parents would support her desire to explore, but this morning her father had made it abundantly clear this was not the case. Apparently, others were starting to wonder if something was wrong with her, so he and her mother had discussed things and chosen to make arrangements for a locked waterbond. The words had hit her like a twenty-foot wave.

  Locked waterbonds were not unheard of, but usually took place between a girl and a boy from different islands who would never have a chance to meet by themselves. It kept the bloodlines from the waterclans from crossing themselves too much. And everyone knew that refusing a locked waterbond brought the anger of the water goddess upon your family. It was unthinkable.

  It had been too much. After throwing out her frustration, Trista had stormed from the house, her mother calling after her to tell her that she had been locked with Landon—one of the more handsome men on the island.

  Trista’s eyes filled with tears again as she spoke to the young bird. “Landon is a dumb ox! Handsome, yes, but with the intelligence of a drunken seal. He could not offer a decent conversation if his life depended on it. Sure, he’s always been kind to me and Decan, but I could never see myself with him. How can they do
this to me?”

  She let out a frustrated sigh and let her gaze slide along the cliff wall again.

  There. She spied a small recess.

  She let out another sigh to calm herself for the climb, and carefully put the chick in her shirt. It was not very difficult to get up there. The cliff had plenty of places to grab, or put her feet on. Bracing herself, she carefully put the young bird back in the empty nest.

  “Best wait here for your parents to come back. I’m sure they haven’t forgotten about you.”

  She made her way back down, but with ten feet still to go, the wall she clung to began to shake. It started softly, but quickly picked up strength. Unable to hold on, she dropped the last few feet, bending her legs as she hit the ground. She immediately moved away from the wall and threw herself flat on the ground. Small pieces of rock rained down from the cliff behind her. At the same time, she heard the earth grunt as the tremor moved through it. Somewhere on her right, the cracking of rock broke through the air like a lightning strike. A cloud of dirt, mixed with shards of rock and a spray of water, shot up into the sky less than a hundred yards from where she lay. The rocky terrain split open as a crack rushed along the ground all the way to the second level of cliffs, where the birds’ nests were. Those able to fly flocked to the air with loud protests.

  As the tremor subsided, Trista carefully got back to her feet.

  The shaking has never been this bad…

  She looked at the bottom of the cliff and then at the recess, happy to see the small chick was still in its nest. Exploring the area, she made her way toward the chasm in the ground, checking her footing on the different-sized boulders to make sure they would not give way.

  The chasm was not very big. She could easily jump across it if needed, but why take the risk? She lay flat on the ground and peered over the edge. White foam rushed in below. Even an experienced swimmer like herself would not make it out of there alive if she fell in.

  The crack ran all the way to the entrance of a cave system she knew all too well. She smiled at the memory of taking Decan there for the first time. He had been so scared, but she had been exploring the grotto for days, trying to find out how many chambers it had and how deep they went.

  One day, her little brother snuck after her into the cave and got lost. She had heard him crying out in the dark. It had not taken her long to find him, and after she had calmed him down a bit, she offered to take him deeper into the caves.

  How tightly he held my hand.

  Standing at the mouth of the cave, Trista saw the crack disappear into the darkness.

  She wanted to go in and check the damage, but without a torch it would be dangerous to go any further. Even if she knew the caves well enough to find her way in the dark, the danger of making a mistake without anyone knowing she was there was just too big. The underground system was huge and had several smaller caves at different heights—not to mention some very slippery tunnels. She looked up. The ceiling also showed a crack that had not been there before. Trista wondered if it had been caused by the tremor just now, or if it was older.

  With the sun setting, the daylight was quickly fading. She lingered a while longer, checking the cracks in the ceiling, before deciding reluctantly to return home. The tremor had shaken off most of her anger, and knowing her parents, they were probably worried about her. She just hoped that the subject would not come up again…at least for today.

  As she followed the cliffs home, she thought of her special cave. A few of the more distant rooms had large holes in the ceiling that let in the daylight. But the nights were when the cave was at its best. She had occasionally snuck out to visit the cave when the moon and stars were very bright. She would lie in the soft moss of one of the open caverns, staring at the stars and moon, fantasizing that the sky was an ocean and each star an island to explore. This particular part of the cave had a special kind of plant growing on the walls. She had seen it many times during the day, but when in bloom, the plant was simply breathtaking at night. The wall-plant’s tiny white flowers were like stars poured into the cavern, decorating the walls. Trista had never seen anything like it before and guarded it as one of her most precious secrets.

  Her stomach growled. She had stormed out just after breakfast, and in her anger and stubbornness had completely forgotten to eat anything for the rest of the day. She looked out across the sea. The dark clouds on the horizon were rolling in fast, painting the sky in an ominous mixture of red and black as the setting sun sank in the west. Soon, the sun god would start his seduction again, offering a sky full of sparkling gems to win the hand of the water goddess.

  Perhaps I’ll sneak out tonight if these storm clouds break. Trista smiled.

  The eastern shore came into view as she rounded the cliff. The village lay just beyond. But as she scanned the distance for the silhouettes of familiar buildings, she saw instead dozens of ships anchored off the coast. She stopped, spotting others that were still sailing on their way to the west side of the island. Their sails were as black as the gathering storm clouds above them. Thick, black smoke rose from the village, illuminated by an orange glow much too bright for a house lantern or a bonfire.

  Fire!

  Mother! Father! Decan!

  The last of Trista’s anger evaporated. The hole it left behind immediately filled with a dreadful, gnawing fear. By the time her head had caught up, her feet were already running. She flew across the boulders, moving faster than she had ever done before on the tricky terrain. When she raced the island boys, she had always been careful not to lose her balance on the wet spots, or get her foot stuck in one of the many holes between the boulders, but now her cautiousness was pushed to the back of her head by the panic that overtook her.

  She felt light-headed, sucking in breaths in short bursts. Her legs began to wobble, losing their strength. Then a rumbling suddenly roared up. It was not her legs; instead, the ground had begun to shake once more.

  But where the previous tremor had started softly, this one exploded out of nowhere. Trista did not even have time to stop. As the earth shook and the boulders vibrated from the sheer force of the quake, her moving foot missed its step. She threw her arms forward in a futile attempt to soften the fall, but she could not prevent her head from hitting the boulder that had seemingly moved heaven and earth in an effort to meet her. The world disappeared into nothingness as the wet stone introduced itself to her with firm self-assurance.

  “Are you sure you’re fit enough to do this?” yelled Raylan, grabbing a rope to keep himself upright. “It looks awfully dangerous.”

  His voice was lost in the blasts of wind, but Galirras got the gist of it.

  “Do not worry; my wounds are fine,” said the dragon’s voice in his head. “The storm is much worse than we hoped. If I do not get clear of the ship, I might bring the entire thing down.”

  Galirras’ claws dug into the wooden deck to keep himself in place. Around them, dark clouds raced past as curtains of rain swept along the ship. Raylan did not have a dry piece of clothing on him anymore.

  “We should have gone further around,” replied Raylan in private, shaking his head.

  “That would have taken days,” spoke Galirras. He had scouted the storm front; it went on for miles.

  They had intended to go around, but a sudden shift in atmospheric pressure had changed the winds. Down below, they had tried their best to stay ahead of the storm by using the bladed fan wheel that propelled them forward in addition to the sails, but the dark clouds had soon swallowed them up as they tried to stay on course. From there, it had only gotten worse.

  Thunder rolled in the distance. Frowning, Raylan watched a faint glow lighting up the clouds.

  “Can’t you divert the wind from the ship with your power?”

  Raylan shouted the words. He had gotten used to sharing his mind with the dragon; after all, they were linked. Galirras had said so himself when he hatched from his egg. “You are mine, and I am yours.” But sometimes it just felt bette
r to say his words out loud and, in this case, challenge the wind with them.

  It had been a bit of an adjustment, sharing his head. These past few months it had rarely been quiet in there. The dragon had an enthusiastic, innocent interest in getting to know the world, so they spoke about all kind of matters: animals, people, cities, forests, fishing—everything. Luckily, Galirras’ enthusiasm was infectious, though Raylan found it tiring at times.

  “The wind is too strong, the ship too big. My power would have no effect,” answered Galirras.

  Behind them, Marek called out to them. The boy was making his way across the deck when a gust of wind shifted the ship without warning. Marek lost his footing and half-slid, half-stumbled dangerously close to the railing. Raylan made a grab for him, but the fabric of Marek’s shirt slipped between his fingers. Galirras’ tail, however, was long enough to cover the distance. It shot in front of their comrade, allowing Marek to cling onto it.

  “Thanks,” shouted Marek with a grin at the dragon.

  “Be careful,” yelled Raylan. “We’re still a long way above the ocean.”

  “I know, but I need to check the balloon for tears. The boiler is using way too many stones.”

  Without another word, the agile lad shot up the ropes toward the large balloon above their deck. On the side of the ship, several of the sails had been reeled in to prevent them from ripping. Only a few of them were still being used to control the flying boat.

  A bucket dangled around Marek’s neck as he clambered upward. Over its edge spilled drops of a sticky goo. On his other side was a bag that held different sizes of leather patches and a few security lines with clasps.

  Raylan was glad to see their youngest tagalong had recovered from the beatings he received during the night of their getaway. A bit of greenish-blue below still showed below Marek’s left eye where the brand of a closed fist displayed his previous status as a slave of the Stone King. Thankfully, the swelling had gone down quickly.