by Jean Rabe
“Perhaps.” The sivak’s tone was skeptical. “Dhamon, enough with the suspense. Tell us, how is this lake going to help you become human again?”
Feril raised her shoulders in a half-shrug and tentatively touched the water with her toes. “The lake can’t help him, sivak.”
Ragh growled. “Of course it can. Otherwise, why by the number of the Dark Queen’s heads did we come here? Don’t tell me it was a wasted, worthless…”
“It’s what’s in the lake that could make all the difference, right, Dhamon?” Feril stepped forward until the water came up to her knees. She’d caused only the faintest ripples when she entered, and the water was still smooth like glass behind her, where she’d already passed. “They say the city of Qualinost still exists here, but it’s beneath the water. They say that when Beryl… they called her the Green Peril… succumbed to the elven army led by Laurana and Marshall Medan, that she destroyed Qualinost in her final moments. They say the dragon thrashed so hard a crater was created, and the White Rage River filled it up. Nalis Aren was born.”
Ragh continued to growl softly, looking up at Dhamon. “Great. A dead city. What exactly do you think is in the lake? You saw something in that crystal ball, didn’t you? That’s why we’re here.” The sivak ground the ball of his foot into the sand. “Coarse stuff,” he muttered to himself, “much coarser than sand should feel. You’d think there’d be dirt here instead of sand this far inland.”
Feril thought the water was warm, though not so warm as the summer air. Perhaps the breeze blowing from the south had cooled it a little. It was comfortable, relaxing, and she found herself suddenly looking forward to a swim. It was odd, however, that there was a slight mist above the water carrying a chill.
“Qualinost was in the crystal ball, Ragh,” Dhamon rumbled finally, catching Feril’s eye with his intense gaze. “The crystal revealed that Qualinost is indeed still here, at the bottom of this lake, relatively intact. The crystal told me there’s something down there that can make me human again.”
“The city’s intact?” Ragh kept grinding his foot, curious to see how deep the sand was. “And there’s something hidden in it that will help?” His tone seemed incredulous.
“So the crystal says. Unfortunately, the crystal did not reveal just what that ‘something’ was.”
“I suspect there’s plenty of magic left in the city,” Feril volunteered. “A few Qualinesti refugees I helped on Cristyne told me stories.”
Dhamon nodded. “I need you both to help me find the magic.”
Feril turned and looked at him as her fingers drew circles in the water. She shivered from the cold mist, and suddenly there was something cold in her eyes. “Dhamon, I would like to help you be human again, but… this lake is very big. The city was immense. This would be like looking for one perfect hair on a shaggy dog.”
She took a few steps closer to the shore, anger now flitting on her face. The water lapped around her calves, and she stared at Dhamon with an odd expression before speaking again. “As curious as I am about this lake, I get a feeling of dread. This is a dangerous place, and what you’re looking for… you don’t know what you’re looking for… could well be impossible to find. I don’t think…”
Dhamon cleared his throat, the sound rough and loud, giving both Feril and Ragh a start. “I realize it’s dangerous, but I will make it worth your while, Feril.”
The Kagonesti arched a dubious eyebrow.
“You know I have treasure in my lair. It’s a fortune on your terms, and you could use it to help your refugees. You can have all of it, Feril. You know you have power to survive underwater longer than my kind. If you explore the lake and discover what is down there that can make me human again, you can have all my treasure.”
“Hey!” Ragh protested, before Dhamon swiveled his head and cut him off with a glare.
“A fortune?” Feril wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to ward off the chill of the mist.
“Gold, gems, and magical baubles… all of it yours and all of it certainly worth the risks of Nalis Aren. Think how many refugees you could help.”
She stood silent for several moments, weighing the offer. “This is absurd,” she said at last, “and too dangerous.” She turned and faced the center of the lake and glided farther out from the shore, testing the waters up to her waist. “The refugees do need help, and if the city is indeed at the bottom of this lake, there might be wisdom and magic in it, no doubt many things precious and arcane. When the elves fled, they could take only a handful of possessions with them. They had to leave practically everything behind.”
“So the crystal ball might be right,” Ragh, excited despite himself, interjected. “There could be a cure down there for Dhamon.”
“There were many sorcerers and scholars in Qualinost, the finest elf minds in all of this land.” She stirred the water with her fingers, noticing that the swirls were small and the surface was disturbed only briefly before returning to placidity. “Perhaps the finest minds in all of Ansalon.” She tried to flick a ripple away from her, but that stopped rippling within a few inches. “Odd.”
“Odd that elves had fine minds?” Ragh mused. Much, much softer, “I’ve respect for elves, Feril. More than they’ve respect for me and my kind.”
“Feril…” Dhamon edged forward, his front claws reaching into the shallows of the lake. “Do you really think the Qualinesti’s magic could hold the key?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “They were shrewd in many ways and they defeated an overlord, didn’t they? What harm could there be in my looking for things they left behind?” She glanced over her shoulder and up into Dhamon’s eyes. “I admit, I wanted to come here anyway, Dhamon. I would have come here alone, eventually, had we not met again. I am a curious soul, and this place, with its unimaginable history of sadness and tragedy, draws me.”
“You wanted to see if the tales were true about a sunken city?” Dhamon asked, shaking his head ruefully, the gesture stirring the air and blowing the scent of the swamp in her direction.
She frowned. “No. I doubt I would have thought to enter the water, were it not for your coaxing. I wanted to see the lake. It is said that no elf comes here.”
“It may be dangerous, as you say.”
“Our world is dangerous.” She edged out until the water was above her waist and then nearing her shoulders. “One of the Qualinesti refugees I spoke to mentioned working for a sage who had studied dragons and their magic—said the sage and his students, like so many others, refused to leave Qualinost so likely died there. Perhaps if I could find that sage’s workshop, or another’s of equal importance, it might help you. I agree with you that it is worth the trying.”
Dhamon watched in quiet admiration as the Kagonesti bravely tipped her head back and let the water play around her neck. She closed her eyes.
“Yet I see what you see, Feril. The water behaves oddly. There are no animal prints nearby. I sense, if not danger, then caution signs,” he said. “Watch yourself.”
“You and the sivak can wait for me in the shade of the oaks. I might be gone a while.” With that comment and a last look over her shoulder, Feril abruptly disappeared beneath the surface. Ragh gasped expectantly, meeting Dhamon’s gaze.
“The sivak,” Ragh said with some irritation, after he was certain she was not going to pop right back into view. “My name is Ragh, elf.” He left the sand and walked onto the grass and scowled when he couldn’t find the depression he’d made with his foot near the lake’s edge. “Damnedest place this lake is.”
Dhamon came close to him on the shore, saying nothing.
“Your elf-friend can breathe water?” Ragh asked, in a milder tone.
“When she wants to. I’ve seen her slip inside the minds of sea creatures, and I’ve seen her grow gills. She can run with any animal too.”
Ragh started heading back toward the trees. “I’m not sure I’d want to breathe that water even if I could. Hmm, no animal tracks near the lake
.” Then he remembered he couldn’t find his own tracks in the sand. “Damnedest place, and damn you for not telling me about this plan of yours, for not telling me what you learned from that crystal ball. I deserve to know these things. You’re risking the life of your elf-friend, but you’re risking mine too. My half of the treasure also, if you don’t mind my mentioning it.”
“Half?!” Dhamon snorted contemptuously. “Feril doesn’t know how much treasure we actually have now, does she?” Dhamon said in an amused tone. Ragh’s jaw dropped. “Anyway,” Dhamon continued, “she’s a formidable character, you’ve already seen that. She can well take care of herself.”
“What else did your crystal ball say? Think she’ll run into trouble down there?”
Dhamon’s eyes glazed over. “Oh, she’ll run into trouble all right, but like I say, she can take care of herself. I didn’t send her down there to be sacrificed. I still have some… feelings, you know, but I want to be cured, to be human again, and then, my friend, the bulk of our treasure will let us live like kings.”
The water was pleasantly warm and relaxing, colored a brilliant blue below the murkier-looking surface, as if some inner light that made it practically shine and glow. As Feril held her breath she felt the water press gently against her ears. She was uncertain how far she was seeing under the water, perhaps only as far as one hundred feet—all intense blue. A minute passed and nothing intruded; after two minutes she saw something out of the corner of her eye.
Turning, Feril spotted a fish with silvery sides and a rosy stripe. A variety of lake trout, she decided, and beyond the first one another fish as long as her forearm. This second was green and brown, its jaw extending just under and beyond its fat eye. Likely a bass, she thought at first, but it swam closer, revealing itself as more colorful and quick, a new species she did not know. Shortly she saw a pair of small, black bullheads with snow-white underbellies.
Then a school of silverfins twisted into view, before darting and disappearing away. Other fish appeared, and with them a soft surrating sound, like a gentle scraping, as if from the larger fish brushing against each other.
The presence of so many fish calmed her. She hadn’t told Dhamon, but she feared the water actually might be poisoned to an extent, since she’d not noticed any animal tracks nearby and since it was unnaturally still and so murky on the surface.
She swam forward, still holding her breath, discovering many underwater plants now, which further improved her mood. Dodders, reeds, and delicate looking lake oats reached just inches below the surface. There was the greatest variety of fish where the plants were the most dense. She spied deep-bodied drum fish that were making grunting sounds that carried hauntingly through the water. There were bony-jawed pike hunting smaller fish, and spoonbills and guapotes.
She dived deeper down and struck out toward the center of the lake, finding plenty of bowfin, one nearly as long as she was tall. The mottled green fish had a large, scaleless head and a tooth-filled mouth, and though it could have troubled her, it came close enough only to satisfy its curiosity, then fluttered away.
Feril was starting to get lightheaded as she swam through a bed of plants resembling cattails. She closed her eyes and pictured the silvery trout. For an instant she considered taking that form, but hands might be useful, she decided, so she modified her nature magic. As her chest grew tighter and she felt the first wave of dizziness, she focused her energies on her neck, just below her jaw—still picturing the trout, the way it moved, the flash of its scales—its gills.
The water that flowed into Feril’s lungs through the gills she’d grown was tepid in temperature but nonetheless sustaining. Amazing, she thought. Each time she called upon her nature magic to fly, breathe water, or perform some other miracle that was beyond an ordinary elf, she was astounded. She would never grow tired of her abilities, never fail to appreciate the gift of her experience.
For several minutes she pushed aside unsettling thoughts about Dhamon and the sivak, the mass graves and the dark forces hunting the struggling Qualinesti. She focused only on herself and this incredible lake. She concentrated on the feel of the water that cocooned her, and how her short hair fluttered as she continued her diving and swimming. She could smell everything below, the fish and the plants, perhaps the very essence of the water, all of it very pleasant and distracting. She savored the sensation of the water flowing through her gills, and she listened attentively to the faint, musical sound of the drum fish. A school of sunfish darted toward her, all shimmering orange and yellow-gold. A lone catfish swam lazily behind. Later, there were more trout, pike, and basslike fish.
Farther out and deeper down, there was only the intense blue and eerie silence. She reached out with her senses, searching for the sounds of the drum fish she had come to rely on, hearing only the beating of her heart and a rush in her ears. She strained her eyes looking for something that might have spooked the fish, but she saw no trace of a predator. The plant life had vanished. She considered returning to the surface just to get her bearings. Instead she plunged even deeper. Feril guessed she was twenty or thirty feet down. There should be some kind of undergrowth here, at least reed thin plants looking like strands of yarn. Perhaps she was deeper than she thought, forty or fifty feet—too deep for plants to grow. The water was becoming a dark blue. Perhaps the light didn’t reach far enough for any plant life. How deep could the lake be?
“Just a little farther,” she urged herself, “for Dhamon and for the treasure that will help the refugees.” It was equally for her own curiosity. If truth be told, she had been headed in the direction of the lake when Dhamon and the sivak crossed her path. She’d intended to visit this place when she’d first learned of it last year, though she’d been taking her time getting here. She’d never been to Qualinost when it was teeming with elves—she had no desire then. There would have been crowds, elves asking the Kagonesti stranger questions, pressing against her on the street. She preferred her blessed solitude—she relished her solitude even here in the lake. “There must be a bottom. Broken homes, shattered towers, and…”
The lake changed abruptly, startling the Kagonesti. It had grown darker still, the dark blue giving way to a dusky green, the pleasant warmth becoming instantly, numbingly cold. It was as if she’d jumped into a glacier lake in Southern Ergoth. She blinked furiously as her eyes tried to adjust. There was something below her, just outside her vision—a stark angular shape. A tower?
She pointed herself straight down like an arrow and kicked her feet violently. At the same time she fought to separate the dark colors and shadows and to keep her imagination in reign. Was this the outskirts of the city? Was Qualinost truly at the bottom of this lake, as the tales claimed? Or was she seeing the husk of a dead tree? Perhaps she wasn’t seeing anything, her mind was playing tricks.
No, she told herself. There is definitely something there.
She kicked even more furiously, trying to fight off the cold, which was becoming hurtful, streaming through the water and locking her gaze on the angular object. Her heart beat faster in anticipation as she drove herself harder.
No! Only a tree, she realized, one that had been large and wide in life loomed like an obelisk now, but a tree nonetheless. Though disappointed, Feril still had no intention of retreating to the warmth of the surface. If there was a giant of a tree such as this deep down in this lake, there could well be other surprises.
“Qualinost,” she whispered, the word carrying through the water not intelligibly, but as bubbles flowing around her ears. Qualinost must be here, she repeated to herself. It has to be here somewhere—the tales can’t be wrong.
“It is here,” came an unbidden reply. “Just a little farther. I’ll show you the way.”
Something gripped the Kagonesti’s wrists and pulled her. The touch was impossibly cold and impressively strong. Feril struggled against it, but the force tugged her inexorably down, down, down—where the cold was all around.
6
An hour
later, Dhamon was half in, half out of the lake, his tail twitching on the sand and creating patterns that the sivak could watch disappear.
“You said the elf could take care of herself.”
“She can, Ragh.”
“Then why worry?”
“I’m not worried.”
Dhamon stared into the water, seemingly looking at his own scaly reflection through the top layer of mist, but truthfully staring at something far beyond the lake and beyond this day. He saw himself six years ago, when he boasted wheat-blond hair and as much honor and stout-heartedness as any knight. He’d not been long-removed from the Dark Knights, as they called themselves then. His soul was shiny then, after being polished by an aging Solamnic Knight whom he’d come to know as a mentor and friend. His heart had been pledged to helping Goldmoon and her companions against the dragon overlords. Feril was among those companions: he, Rig, Palin, and the others… all of them believing they could make a difference in the world and were looking for a way.
Dhamon thought he loved her from first sight, even though, smiling inwardly, he knew he initially had rebelled against that notion. She as an elf after all, and he was a human; their lives were so differently fated, and his years on the earth would be so short compared to hers. She was a Kagonesti, a wild elf, a loner. He was a former Dark Knight with so much blood on his hands. Still, they did become swept up in each other, at least for a little while. The memory of that time was the sweetest thing that kept him going. Did he still love her?
Could he ever be human again? Dhamon looked at his reflection and shuddered. Unspoken always was the faint hope that if he was human, he could—perhaps—be with Feril again. Unless she chose to leave once more or truly expected him to part with his hoard to help refugees, because he might still love her, but not enough to part with the riches and what they could bring him.
