Wavebreaker

by A. J. Norfield

  I wish I had more to give to you, little one.

  “What do we do now?” asked Decan quietly.

  “We wait. Sooner or later, this storm will end. With a little luck, there will be no soldiers in sight when it does,” said Trista.

  “And Dalkeira?”

  “She’s nearby. I can still hear her, but it’s no use trying to find her in this, so she’s hunkering down as well.”

  “Are you doing alright?” Trista asked the dragon in her head.

  “Do not worry about me. I am fine. I think I will try to get some sleep while we wait,” replied the dragon, sounding weary after the day’s travel.

  Trista wondered how anyone could sleep at a time like this, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. They were not going anywhere. They had traveled many days with only a few moments of real sleep each day. All three of them were near exhaustion and in much need of rest.

  Beside her, the baby made some small sounds.

  “I wish we had something to feed her with,” said Trista to no one in particular.

  “Would this help?” asked Decan, reaching around to grab something from one of his pockets. He pulled out a piece of dried meat and gave it to Trista.

  “Thanks, little brother, but she’s still much too young for solid food. She doesn’t even have teeth yet. Besides, isn’t that your last piece?”

  “It's okay. I’m not that hungry,” lied Decan. “And why don’t we bird-feed it to her?”

  “Bird-feed? What do you mean?”

  “Yeah, like the birds on the island. Catch fish and spit it out again. Mother said it helps the young digest the solid food, even if they are still very small.”

  Trista looked at the piece of dried meat and suddenly had a flashback to her grandma chewing some herb leaves before putting them in the large pot of soup. Trista had been disgusted at the time, refusing to eat the soup, even after her nanna had explained it helped activate the flavor.

  But as Trista looked down at the child, she moved past her initial objections. She bit off a piece and started chewing, taking a small sip of water to make it easier to bite down on the dry meat and mix her saliva into it. Trista’s own hunger made it difficult not to simply swallow the piece for herself. Her stomach rumbled in protest as she spat it out and carefully put a small glob of it inside the baby’s cheek.

  The child instantly started clamping her jaws. As Trista’s eyes adjusted to the low light, she saw from the tiny face that the little girl was not used to the taste. Trista spent the next few moments trying to figure out if the child was working the food to swallow it, or to spit it out. In the end, it was both. Part of it landed outside her tiny mouth, but part of the food found its way to the stomach as well. Once it was gone, the child opened her mouth, searching for more.

  “Just like a bird,” remarked Decan.

  The baby tried her best to swallow a few more chewed-up pieces of food, but quickly tired. Afraid she would choke on the meat, Trista stopped and softly stroked the tiny belly to help the child fall asleep.

  “I think we should try to get some sleep as well,” said Trista, only to see Decan’s head already lying on his arm with his eyes closed.

  She did not blame him; the monotonous noise of the storm made it difficult to stay awake. Trista felt her own eyelids grow heavy. And while she was nervous about sleeping while the enemy soldiers searched for them so close by, it did not take long before she too was in the world of dreams.

  Trista lay motionless, thinking how time often moved like an ocean. It could be hard to see how much of it passed. It could rush at you and surprise you, or seemingly stand still from where you stood. But time was always moving and it waited for none. She had no idea how much time they had spent under the canvas already. A night? A day? Two? Both she and Decan dozed on and off, having to readjust every time they woke to make sure they would not disappear under layers of sand as the sandstorm raged on around them.

  The baby seemed happy to have people nearby. Trista fed her several times with the dried meat and tried her best to get rid of the waste she produced. Luckily, little came out because little was going in.

  Trista had never thought about children before. What was the point if you had not found someone to be a parent with? Even if she had, she had no idea if she would want them any time soon.

  If it had been her parents’ choice she would already have given them several grandchildren. Most girls on the island seemed eager to start a family, but Trista had always been perfectly content with the family she had. She had to admit, though, that this small girl had a charming effect on her. Considering the circumstances, it was strange how the child's small giggles as it tried to grab locks of Trista’s red hair brought a smile to their faces, but it happened nonetheless.

  Trista was most worried about the water. Her bag was half empty, and Decan had finished his already. If the storm did not let up soon they would be forced to move through it in search of water.

  “I like that sound,” said Dalkeira in her head when the baby let out a giggle; Decan was making funny faces at her to pass the time.

  “You can hear her? You must be closer than I thought.”

  The dragon had not spoken much during the storm. Trista had felt her touch her mind a couple of times, but mostly the dragon had slept, conserving her energy. Dalkeira had asked about the small girl, intrigued by how humans could start so helpless. But although the dragon never complained about hunger or thirst, Trista was worried. Dalkeira might be too proud to mention it, but the dragon would need to get some water soon.

  “Just barely. I think the wind is lessening,” said Dalkeira.

  “Really?”

  Trista concentrated on listening to the storm, but the sound of sand blasting against the canvas still seemed as loud as ever.

  At some point, Trista must have dozed off again, because she opened her eyes to a world of silence. Moving carefully, she saw the baby and Decan were both still asleep. Their calm breathing was the only thing she could hear.

  Cautiously, she moved the canvas, making sure none of the sand that had piled up on them fell on her brother or the baby. She was greeted by a cloudless sky filled with stars. Looking around, she saw the landscape around them had completely changed. The white plains had gone, covered by large dunes. It was like a sea of sand had pushed its way inland, its giant waves frozen in mid-swell.

  The rustling of sand made her turn around. Dalkeira’s head emerged from a small pile as she unfolded herself. Stretching her rigid wings and limbs, she shook herself from head to tail to get all the sand off.

  “I told you it was dying down,” said Dalkeira.

  The dragon looked up and marveled at the sight of the sky.

  “It is like the sparkling ocean waters took flight,” she said.

  Trista looked up and wondered if that was how the dragon saw water in their world all the time. It certainly reminded her of their nights out at sea. Without any light from the village, the stars were often magical at night. The dragon let out a sigh.

  “I am thirsty.”

  “I thought as much,” Trista said. She walked over and poured some of her own water in Dalkeira’s mouth.

  “What about you and Decan? And the child?”

  “We’ll all have to share now, but there isn't much left.”

  “Have you seen any soldiers?”

  “No, thankfully,” she answered, looking around.

  Both Decan and the child stirred, woken by the sound of Trista’s voice.

  “Is it over?” said Decan.

  “Looks like it. Let’s get moving while we can. I don’t want to be surprised by any soldiers wandering around,” said Trista.

  Decan stood up and carefully picked up the baby.

  “I’ll carry her for a while. Can she have a bit of water?”

  Trista was passing Decan the water bag when the sound of cascading sand made her look up to one of the dunes. The silhouette of a horse stood dark against the starry sky.
The animal softly snorted and shook its head, shaking sand from its mane.

  Immediately, Trista’s hand shot to her knife.

  “Does anyone see its rider?”

  But none of them saw the owner of the horse. Dalkeira tried to move up the dune, but the horse nervously whinnied and disappeared out of sight.

  “Wait, come back!” Trista called out as loudly as she dared. “Dalkeira, hold on. You’ll scare it off. Let me see if I can gain its trust. It can carry us and the baby.”

  She moved up the dune as quietly as possible. Reaching the top, she spotted the horse down below on the other side. At its feet, a body lay half-buried in the sand. She pulled out her knife again and slowly slid down toward the nervous horse.

  The man’s head was buried in the sand, his body lying motionless, but Trista did not want to take any chances. As she inched forward, knife at the ready, the horse reluctantly moved away. Her hands shook as she stretched out her arm, reaching for the man’s shoulder. She raised her knife, preparing to strike if needed. Grabbing the man’s armored shoulder, she jerked him onto his back. The move exposed a small axe as his furthest hand was pulled out of the sand. Trista’s heart skipped in panic, expecting it to swing at her face, but the expression on the soldier’s face said enough. His mouth gaped and his clouded, half opened eyes were filled with sand.

  A broken neck, Trista thought to herself.

  She looked away. That image was certainly coming back to haunt her dreams.

  Turning away from the head, she searched the body. It was her first opportunity to check out one of the soldiers up close without fighting for her life. The man’s face was scarred, with strange patterns tattooed onto it. His muscular build made him look bigger than he actually was, lying still in front of her. The armor, a combination of leather and metal, was simple but supplemented the soldier’s fierce look. A sword and two knives hung on his belt.

  Carefully, as if a sudden movement would bring the man back from the dead, Trista took the weapons from the corpse. She did not know much about handling a sword, but figured it could always come in useful.

  A snort right above her startled her. The horse had moved closer, seeing that Trista did not mean it any harm. The poor animal had dry crusts around its eyes and sand lining its nostrils. Its brown coat dull and still filled with sand. Slowly, Trista rose to her feet, holding her hand up to the horse’s chin while she spoke soothingly.

  “Shhh. Shhh. It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The horse bobbed its head and Trista noticed for the first time its bulky saddle bags.

  Although her only experience was with donkeys—there had not been many horses on their island—it felt natural to slide her hand across the jawline and down the animal’s neck as she tried to ease the horse’s nerves. Arriving at the saddle, she opened one of the bags hanging behind it. Her throat choked up as she saw the contents of it. Bread, dried meat, some dried fruit and some small, hard seeds she did not recognize—most of it untouched by the sand.

  She quickly moved to the other side. Uncertain, the horse scraped the sand beneath it, but stood its ground. The other side had a bag filled with crabs and freshly caught lizards. The food would be enough to feed three people for a week, perhaps more if they rationed it properly. With a growing dragon, they probably would not make it that far, but Trista would try her best to spread it out as long as possible. The final bag brought even greater joy; inside, four large water bags filled to the brim greeted her.

  She allowed herself to take a gulp of the stale water; it was one of the best drinks she had ever had. She carefully poured some in her hand, allowing the horse to quickly slobber it up. The animal seemed grateful for the gesture, visibly relaxing in her presence. She would have liked to give the horse more, but the water would better serve her other companions—however guilty she felt about it.

  Trista took the reins and called out to Dalkeira in her mind to come and join her.

  “It is not afraid anymore?”

  “It’s nervous, but if you don’t approach it directly, I’m hoping it will tolerate your presence,” said Trista in her thoughts. “It’s a large steed. I think it’s just shaken from the storm. Its rider is dead.”

  The introduction went better than expected. The horse was clearly trained, and as soon as it sensed Dalkeira was not a danger, the animal relaxed even more. Trista packed up the weapons as best she could, while Decan and the baby ate and drank some of the new provisions. Dalkeira allowed herself to eat two pieces of dried meat; not nearly enough to still her hunger, but with another gulp of water it resembled something close to a decent, albeit very small, meal for the dragon.

  Trista helped Decan into the saddle and handed him the baby. The child now took more enthusiastically to the chewed meat than before, but mostly asked for water. Trista looked at the duo on top of the horse and could not help but feel utterly hopeless. Even with this unexpected gift, she had no idea what they were getting into. She was doing her best, but the running, and not knowing, was beginning to take its toll on her. She tried not to show it, fully aware that both little brother and growing dragon looked to her to make the decisions. But now they had such a small and delicate life added to their little group, all Trista could think about was how many days the tiny child would have in this unforgiving landscape, and how quickly they would follow her into the afterlife.

  The horse nudged her shoulder with its nose. It was as if the steed felt her indecisiveness. She looked at the large, clear eyes surrounded by crusted sand, wondering what it wanted to say.

  Keep moving, she told herself, filling in the words. We have to keep moving. To give up is certain death. We must get somewhere safe.

  But in the back of her mind, a little voice quietly whispered, What if there is nowhere safe?

  She pushed it away to the deepest parts of her brain, where she doubted even Dalkeira could hear it. For the second time, the horse gave her a push.

  “I know, I know,” said Trista. “We’ve got to get moving.”

  She grabbed the reins, after which she simply put one foot in front of the other. The horse meekly followed, Dalkeira joining them as well. West. The only direction that remotely made any sense. Trista just hoped it would lead to something better.

  Raylan squirted water from his mouth in an arc then submerged his face, filling his mouth with the cool, fresh-tasting water once more. This time, he swallowed it with large gulps. He held his breath as long he could, looking at the shimmering sun that broke through the surface above him. He emerged to take a breath and shook his head, running his hands through his hair to get rid of the excess water.

  Perhaps Xi will cut it tonight, he thought, feeling the length of it.

  A loud yell warned Raylan to shield his face just as Marek launched himself from a rock and splashed right next to him.

  The youngster resurfaced, exclaiming, “Aaaah, so refresh—”

  Raylan drowned out the rest of it with a wave of water made by his own two hands.

  “I’m glad we stopped a little early today,” said Peadar, who sat atop a rock on the shore of the small basin. “We’ve been riding nearly nonstop since we left Azurna.”

  His feet dangled in the water. Meanwhile, Marek coughed and spluttered to recover from the surprise attack. Raylan could not help but laugh—until Marek returned the favor.

  As the youngest official member of their squad, Peadar had been focused on keeping their message birds healthy as they escaped the Dark Continent. Since the last bird had been sent off many weeks ago, the young man now made himself useful by doing small chores, like mending the holes in their clothes. His healing skills came in handy now as he applied needle and thread to the fabric in front of him.

  “Why don’t you join us?” called Marek.

  “No, thanks. I like keeping the water out of my lungs.”

  “What about you, Galen?” said Raylan.

  The large, heavy hitter of the team sat calmly dangling his feet in the water,
much like Peadar did.

  “I’m alright.”

  Galen had his shirt off to catch the sun. His chest and back showed many scars, some of which were the result of his fall from the stone arch on Doskova, including a particularly long and nasty one across his back. Raylan remembered how defeated they had felt after the large man went over the edge. But Galen had miraculously survived the long drop toward the water, only to be nearly ripped apart by the current and rocks.

  “How much longer until we reach Shid’el?” asked Marek.

  “We’ve been on the road for almost a week,” said Raylan, making his way to the shore. “So at least another two weeks.”

  They had followed the river from Azurna ever since they left, but it trailed too far north in this area, so they were currently cutting through forests and low mountains before reconnecting with it as it came back south again. It would be a day or two, maybe three, before they would meet up with it again.

  “We should probably get back now,” said Raylan, adding with a laugh, “or else Sebastian will eat all the food again.”

  The four of them walked leisurely back toward their camp. The smell of hot stew drifted through the trees. Marek, who walked up front with Peadar, made a remark and gave Peadar a punch on the arm.

  Despite the animal healer’s more timid nature, Peadar and Marek were getting along uncommonly well. Ever since their escape, Marek had made it his business to pull the slightly older and shy Peadar out of his shell. And more often than not, the young one succeeded—even if that meant the duo resorted to some mischievous behavior. It was quite entertaining to see. The only one who had tried to discourage the growing friendship between the two had been Richard, who did his best to keep the group disciplined.

  “I wonder if Marek will stay around—after we get to Shid’el, I mean,” said Raylan to the big man walking next to him. “I hope for Peadar he does. But if he’s a real water rat, he’ll get restless after a while in one spot. Still, he must be strong to have survived so long in the clutches of the Stone King’s army. So, maybe I’m reading it wrong.”