by Kristi Lea
Illista shivered. There was no way to know what such a creature would eat in the darkness of the cave. She was grateful that she had not given into the temptation to swim. Grateful that she had not found out whether it would eat her. Grateful for Joral keeping her feet on solid ground.
“We keep going. If there are two such lights, there must be more.” His whisper tickled the hair above her ears.
For what seemed like hours, they passed a dozen or more tiny cracks in the roof above their heads, all too high or too far out of reach. Some were no more than star-like dots above them, some nearly as large as the first. Some wept flowers, some rock, some dripped water as though fed by a creek on the surface.
The tune of the water changed, too. It was subtle and Illista could not hear from a single footstep to the next that there was anything different. But every few minutes she would notice that the sound had changed, like the humming of a minstrel as he warmed up. Or the howl of the wind as a storm approached.
They rounded a corner to find the cavern burning with a fiery glow. The water rushed around the turns of the cave walls, swirling into dervishes that spun and sputtered and crashed into each other and the walls and splashed Illista and Joral's with a fine cold spray. Stalactites jutted from the ceiling and the floor, meeting in the middle like the teeth of some great beast. The red-gold lights of the setting sun poured across the water from a wide opening at the far end of the cavern.
“We found it.”
***
The mouth of the cave was low to the surface of the water. As Joral and Illista climbed around the outer edge of the cavern towards it, the setting sun outside began to fade. Within fewer minutes than he would have guessed possible, the light was all but gone and the cave drowned in shadows.
They walked as far as they could until the path in front of them narrowed and then disappeared into the water. The opening was still yards away from them across the blackness of the river.
“There is no other way out,” Illista whispered.
“Except through the water.”
His water-nymph raised one eyebrow at him. “Do you swim?”
Joral set his jaw. “Not well, no. I can paddle a little. Unless you plan to poison me first?”
Illista laughed. The unexpected sound bubbled from her with such a bright joyousness that Joral found himself laughing with her. There was only the tiniest bit of gray light now and it reflected in her eyes and off of her silvery black hair.
“I thought you were a ghost that night,” he said as their laughter quieted. “A spirit sent from the gods to rescue me from drowning in that lake.”
The last scraps of her smile fell away but she didn't drop her gaze from his. “That was the first time I had ever taken off my bloodstone. The water called me that night so loudly that I couldn't ignore it. It led me to you.”
Joral felt his chest tighten at her words. This was the first time in so long that he didn't feel so completely alone. The way she looked at him stirred things in him that he didn't realize he possessed. He had always craved acceptance. He had never realized that he also craved the company of a kindred soul.
He tore his gaze away from her glittering eyes and stared at the sliver of night sky outside. “We need to find our way back to the Segra. If my mother fails to uphold the terms of the betrothal contract, we will be at war with the Xan Segra.”
“Of course. The betrothal contract. And I must get back to my sister.” Her soft voice carried an edge that Joral didn't care to think about.
He eyed the dark water again. The ripple of a shadow flitted across the surface. “Maybe we should rest here for the night.”
She shook her head. “I don't think I can swim as a Waki. Not well enough for the both of us, anyway. If someone were to see me like this...”
Joral swallowed the bubble of fear that threatened to rise in his throat like bile. He hadn't lied. He had waded through a pond or two before, but his father's lands were known for their cold springs and icy rivers fed by the northern plains and the farther-off glaciers. And men-at-arms didn't doff their armor lightly. “Tell me what to do.”
“We should tie our clothes into a bundle and carry them. Their weight may be too much under the water.”
She bent to lift her dress over her head and he gulped again, desperate to find somewhere else to look. In the darkness he could only make out the hint of a flesh at a bare shoulder, the line of a slender thigh silhouetted against the deeper blackness of the water, the faint scents of salty sweat and sweet femininity that rose from her bare skin, so close to his own.
He jerked his tunic over his head and tied it into a pack with his breeches, leaving on only his small clothes. If the boots were submerged, they would be ruined but there was little help for it. He carefully threaded the sword into the bundle. It would be heavy but he would not leave so precious a blade to rust, forgotten, in this cave.
With a soft splash, Illista disappeared from his side leaving a cool void where she had been standing. He squinted at the surface looking for a hint of where she went. He heard her gasp of breath as she came to the surface and felt a tinge of embarrassment, standing before her nearly naked, completely at her mercy. “Are you sure this will work?”
She blew out her breath, the sound huffy. He couldn't see the features of her face at all. “I pulled you from the lake, didn't I? This time you should be able to use those big arms and legs of yours to help. The sooner we begin, the sooner I will have you back on solid ground.”
Joral took a deep breath and lowered himself into the water, wincing at the burning cold. He stretched his toes downward but found no bottom. Frigid currents rushed around him, pulling him gently but persistently towards the cave mouth. He imagined something brushed against his leg and he jerked away from the sensation.
“Take my hand.”
He grasped the handle of his sword-tied clothing bundle with one hand and carefully let go of the edge with the other. He immediately began sinking, the water sucking his shoulders and neck under the water. He kicked his feet frantically at the nothingness below him and gasped for breath as the water reached his cheeks then his mouth.
Then Illista's small hand found his flailing one and held it firmly. His head broke through the surface again and the kicking of his feet began to be effective.
“Don't fight the water so. Work with it, not against it.”
“The river is trying to kill me and you want me to help it?” He sputtered as cold water tasting of dirt and rocks and blackness threatened to choke him.
She laughed. The water seemed to laugh too. “It doesn't care for your corpse to foul its waves. Follow me.”
***
The currents danced along Illista's skin and caressed her limbs and back and hair as she swam. She felt so completely alive, so completely herself for the first time in forever. But it was not just the water. The solid feel of Joral's hand, gripping hers with their fingers intertwined, felt right. Complete.
He jerked and tugged her as they approached the cave mouth, but slowly, he was learning the rhythm of the water. The bobbed together, kicking in sync with each other and with the river swirling around them.
No matter what else happened in the coming days and weeks, Illista would never again give up the water. She could never deny the sheer joy of this existence. Would never resist its pull.
With pleas whispered in her heart, she asked for help from the currents. Slowly, slowly the water began to respond. A lift here, a gentle nudge there. Joral's bundle of clothing dragged downward a little less, buoyed by the water.
It was eager to please her.
Illista's head broke the surface just outside the cave and she inhaled sweet night air deep into her lungs. Joral surfaced beside her, treading water and breathing heavy but steady.
Cautiously, she reached out to the water again. With her heart again, not her mind. Loving the water. Corralling it. She concentrated on gathering it a she used to gather the ground flour for making Segra bread. She willed it to gather a
nd lift Joral.
And it did.
“What was that?” he whispered into the darkness.
She was part of the water and it was a part of her. And she found that it obeyed her, like her limbs obeyed her. And she pushed.
She and Joral rode a gentle swell of water like a raft. It carried them, gently, effortlessly, towards the far shore. The singing of the water complained as the bottom grew shallow. It did wish to let her go.
She sent out another heart whisper, stern now. With a disappointed gurgle, they were deposited on a sandy bank, and the water retreated. Illista shivered as the night air touched her bare skin, now empty of the comforting surroundings of the water.
Only a small sliver of moon and a handful of weak stars broke the deep darkness. The rasp of Joral's breath sounded loud against the quiet of the night. “We have to make a fire.”
He had not let go of her hand and she felt the clamminess of his palm and the wrinkled skin of his fingers against her flesh. He released her suddenly and pushed himself to his feet. “Come on, before we freeze to death.”
Illista stood. The earth below her feet felt like coarse sand and gravel, not unlike the beaches near her girlhood home, and it was curiously dry. She took a cautious step forward and a sharp rock tore into the bottom of her heel. “We won't be able to see where we are going.”
“But we can't stay here with wet clothes and no way to warm ourselves.”
Illista stared through the darkness to the shadowy lump in Joral's arms. Maybe if she just...
Joral cried out and jumped back, dropping his clothes to the ground. The sword hit with a clang of metal on rock.
She stared at the bundle on the ground. “I am sorry. Did it hurt?”
He cleared his throat in embarrassment. “I felt the clothes move. Something..tickled me. I..well..”
Illista knelt beside the clothes and untied the knot that held them together. Her fingers quickly found the rough-spun fabric of her own dress. She shook out the wrinkles. It was completely dry though it smelled of river water. Much better than the mud and sweat and grime it had held when she doffed it in the cave. With a grin in the darkness, she slipped it over her head then returned to find her shoes.
Joral held up his own dry shirt and paused. “Did you…?” His voice was tight and clipped.
She sucked in her breath and waited. Waited for the backlash or the anger or the questions.
Joral said nothing, only shrugged on the shirt and then in to the rest of his clothing. Even his boots.
She blew out her breath and followed it with a large yawn. Her arms felt heavy and her legs trembled. “We should find someplace to rest now.”
They climbed together up and out of what seemed to be a sandy beach leading back down to the river. There were no trees or plants until they reached a sharp edge of hard-packed dirt. They found a thick patch that shielded them somewhat from the wind and settled on the ground. Without a word spoken, Joral took Illista into the shelter of his arms and she nestled her back into the warmth of his chest.
She stared at the cloudless sky for many long minutes, aware of the rise and fall of Joral's chest and the heat of his arms and the tickle of his breath in her hair. The tension in his muscles.
Finally, he rolled onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head, sending a shiver of cold up Illista's back. She turned to face him.
“Where do you come from?” he asked the sky and the stars and the tiny sliver of a moon.
Illista rested her head on one elbow and studied his profile. His chin looked like the chins of the rest of the Segra men, but his nose was different, as was the jut of his eyebrows. She felt a strange impulse to trace that line from forehead to nose to the fullness of his lips. Instead, she sighed.
“We grew up near the ocean, many months walk from here. There was a small island just off the coast with palm trees and fruit. It was warm, much warmer than here, and the sun was bright enough during the day to burn if you stayed out too long. The water was warm and salty, perfect for swimming.”
“It sounds beautiful.”
“It was, once.”
He rolled so that they faced each other. “What happened?”
She sniffed. “Outsiders found us. At first they just wanted to trade with us. We would dry the ocean water to make salt. But then they discovered something in the rocks that made them greedy.”
“Gold?”
She shook her head. “I forget what they called it. The island where my parents and Quarie and I lived contained a great deal of it, so they forced us to leave. It was then that their leader's son noticed Quarie.”
She squeezed her eyes tight against the memories. There was a storm and the sounds of Quarie screaming. Her father was cut down by a man with an axe. Her mother pleaded and was silenced.
“We were saved by a great tsunami,” she said haltingly. “Several of Zabewa's men drowned in the water. Quarie and I escaped. They have hunted us ever since. They blamed Quarie for the storm. Called her a witch.”
He touched her cheek lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His voice trembled as he whispered. “I won't let Mulavi take you or your sister. On my life, I promise you that.”
She opened her eyes and then her mouth to speak, but he touched a finger to her lips. “Shh. We should rest now.”
She shook her head and whispered to his finger, “But you see, Quarie is a witch. She did call the waves to kill Zabewa’s men. And now I am a witch too.”
***
Icy spikes shuddered down Illista’s arms and legs to the tips of her toes and up to her hair. She gasped, startled out of sleep into a world she did not at first recognize.
“Shh.” Joral’s hushed whisper tickled her ear and reminded her of just where she was. And with whom. And why. Fear settled like sludge into the pit of her stomach.
She tried to roll over and rolled flat onto her face in the dirt instead. It was then that she realized that she was a Waki again. She pushed up with her thick palms and stared down the embankment towards the river. It was still night time, but by the indigo glowing at the horizon, morning would soon be here. The sounds of the water sounded muffled, like her ears were plugged.
“I see lights a little ways off. Torches maybe, or lanterns. We are probably too far away for anyone to see us yet, but I thought it might be safer for you like this.” Joral crouched a few feet away, his golden hair streaked with the silver rays of the almost-dawn. His gaze was focused somewhere far away, past the river.
The short distance between them felt like stone. Impenetrable. This was how it was supposed to be. Illista, the servant, hiding her true self. Alone for her own protection. Joral, the prince. Preparing for his future. She gulped, unable to gather enough wetness in her mouth to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. A Waki could shed no tears, but the river sang a slow, sad song, begging her to return.
“You are free to go back.” Joral’s voice was low and thick with something intense and raw as though he’d spent the night shouting instead of sleeping. His gaze stayed intent on the spot over her shoulder.
“I am a woman, not a fish. I can’t stay in the water forever. And my sister…”
He nodded. “They are Segra. I am sure of it. Shall we face our future head on, or shall we stay hidden in the grass?”
Chapter 10Illista followed Joral and the two Xan Segra scouts from a respectable distance. A barely respectable distance. Any time she slowed her pace to farther than about three strides back, Joral slowed too and waited on her. He did it suavely, easily adjusting his own pace until she was forced to catch up to them. And he never said a word to their escort.
If they noticed such strange behavior from the son of a rival Chieftess, they did not comment. Maybe they attributed it to his foreign upbringing. Or maybe they just never noticed her, padding along behind them with three quick strides to every long one of theirs.
It pained Illista physically to leave the water behind, but the Xan Segra camp was not far. Mayb
e an hour’s walk around the opposite side of the shore. The underground river must have been beneath the Segra’s feet for their entire journey.
The river bank was actually the edge of a large pond, sacred water like that of the Ken Segra. Except this one was much smaller and lay in the shadow of a hulking sheer cliff of solid granite. Solid from outward appearances. She wondered if the Xan Segra knew of the underground river. The low cave opening was not visible by daylight, even though she knew where to look. She wondered how much longer until it was discovered.
This river-fed pond was receding. What had felt like a sandy beach in the moonlight was a long stretch of dry bed that had obviously once held water. The water looked to cover less than half of the ground that it once had. The beach was dry enough to tell her that the water level had shrunk some long time ago. Months, not days. The occasional grass shoot had begun to take root, but not much. Months, maybe a year.
They entered the Xan Segra camp to a crowd of curious onlookers lining a passage between the sleeping tents and work tents. Illista stared at the people’s feet. Their shoes were the same soft leather and suede as the Ken Segra’s, though the patterns of stitching and beadwork were different. Here and there she caught a glimpse of a Waki foot, hiding behind a tent flap or a wagon wheel.
“My son! Thank the Rains you are safe.” Chieftess stepped forward from a large gathering tent and embraced Joral by the shoulders.
Illista was so surprised by the action that she stared openly. Joral looked stiff in his mother’s arms, and it took him a moment to return the hug with a pat on the woman’s shoulders.
“I am sorry to have caused you grief. There was an…accident with one of the wagons and I went back after Illista.” He motioned back toward her, and she froze.
Chieftess glanced over her and Illista felt achingly aware of her stature, her limbs, her work dress that was little more than a rag, her expressionless Waki face that made her look like a simpleton. She feared to breathe until the Segra woman turned her attention back to her son.
More people filed out of the gathering tent. She recognized two of the tribe elders. Xan Segra hunters. A broad, graying man with a headdress not unlike one of the Chieftess’s own. Rafil, who had led the Xan Segra delegation to the betrothal ceremony. A slender young woman with long white-blonde hair, delicate features, and an embroidered tunic edged in rare onyx beadwork.
