by Cyle Young
“A dozen? But—?” Father snapped the reins.
For as long as Merrileen could remember, the pirates never brought more than three or four ships with them. They were too unorganized. The Kelldonian militia had handled the previous attacks with relative ease. But a dozen ships? Even she knew that was reason for alarm.
“Jo-ban leads them…” The Orckin’s thick accent trailed, as if he choked over the words.
Her father hunched forward, his chest rested flush against Merrileen’s back. His heartbeat thumped loud enough even the repetitive cadence of hoof beats couldn’t drown it out.
Jo-ban.
Merrileen had never met the son of a Corol noble. He’d disappeared from their island homelong before she’d been born. But the mark of distrust Jo-ban had seeded in the Kelldonian families still remained. Once he’d been one of them. An equal. But when her mother broke a vow to marry him and instead chose to be with father, a hatred formed in Jo-ban that could never be quelled.
Had he come back seeking vengeance? The mere rareness of the twelve ship armada made it seem so. The broken engagement had happened long before she was even a possibility, but the present danger and despair was as real as if she’d lived with the drama her entire life.
Jo-ban’s return could only mean one thing. Someone was going to die, and that someone might be her father.
4
A good lamb never wanders far from the shepherd, and a good shepherd never wanders far from the lamb.
Dwarol Proverb
The uneasy feeling in Merrileen’s belly eased as they neared the farmer’s barn. The farmstead’s high green and golden grasses sprawled across the countryside, edged only by a steep cliff that descended to a rocky shore. A large wooden structure eclipsed a one-story cottage. A brown and white shasu—giant owl-like animal—preened itself in the shade.
Xilgo never strayed too far from his flying mount. The animal had accompanied him all the way from the Orckin desert kingdom—Goll. Together they’d abandoned their posting in the great Orckin army, but none knew why—not even her father.
Or if father did know, he’d never shared it with her.
Merrileen had attempted to guess why on more than one occasion, but she’d given up after once receiving a harsh snap from the Orckin warrior. She’d pushed too far. People came to Kelldonia to forget their past, not embrace it. As a child of the free-state, one who’d never experienced more than a few hours outside her homeland’s borders, she’d do well to remember the plight of the people who called it home.
The moment the group halted their donkeys, Harold jumped off and rushed to hitch each animal to a wooden rail that framed the cottage porch. In unison, the remaining men headed for the barn. The farmer had already begun opening the high doors. The wood barked a long and steady creak. The old man paused to wipe a bead of sweat from his wrinkled brow as Jux erupted out into the sun.
Rays of sunshine glistened off the pearlescent belly of the winged animal. Jux’s underscales glistened a rainbow of fantastic colors, sending blinding flashes of light in every direction.
Merrileen shielded her eyes with her forearm. “Down, Jux.”
The heavy animal dropped to four clawed legs and tucked its sapphire wings to its side. Jux lowered his snake-like neck and head to the ground like a shamed puppy. It pained her to hurt his feelings. Of course he was excited to see her. She’d make it up to him later. Unlike other draka, Jux’s tail flayed out at the end into a crescent piece of narrow flesh like a dolphin’s tail. Two dark horns on the top of his skull stretched back in a slight but permanent curve behind his ears. Short rows of teeth, as sharp as any shark’s, lined his oblong jaw, and a sturdy leather saddle nestled in between rows of thick protective spine scales.
Father issued the orders. “Mount up. Harold you stay behind with the others. Guard the boat.” He pointed to the shasu. “Gwerin, ride with Xilgo.”
Merrileen outpaced her father and climbed the leather straps into Jux’s saddle.
“Merr—”
“Don’t you dare try to order me to stay here!” Merrileen stared down her nose. She shook her finger in premeditated defiance.
Father flashed a smile as he strode to join her. “I know better. I’d rather take you with me than listen to months of bellyaching later.” He slid in behind her and took hold of the reins. “I was going to say—ready the bows. It’s going to be a rough ride home.”
5
The sword only strikes clean from a skilled hand.
Ari Proverb
Merrileen counted each arrow in the saddle quiver for the third time. Nervousness overtook her. Her webbed palms moistened and her breaths shallowed. She’d never been in battle before. Father had taught her how to shoot from drakaback—for just this occasion. But even though she could hit a target as good as many of the militiamen, would those same skills translate over to real combat?
She hoped so.
They had thirty arrows in the quiver and two bows. The compact short bow work fit better in her short arms, allowing father to use the recurve bow for greater accuracy. With twelve ships full of pirates, every shot would count.
The rushing breeze tasted of the sea. It smelt like—home.
Her long hair trailed behind her, parallel to Jux’s backbone. Father had positioned himself off to the side so her hair could stream over his shoulder. He seemed calm. But he’d been in battle many times before.
Merileen leaned over the saddle horn and traced her fingers along the edge of a blue-green scale. She felt for Jux’s mood. Was he as anxious as she?
The reef draka had managed to remain calm. His peaceful countenance soothed Merrileen’s soul. If he wasn’t worried, maybe she shouldn’t be either.
But as the multi-colored sails of the pirate ships rose into view, she worried about mother. Was she fit? Had she made it to the fortress? Not that the fortress was more than a fortified residential compound, but it was all they had.
“Merr, when we approach the first ship, I want you to aim for the coxswain. He’ll be steering the ship.”
A lump formed in Merrileen’s throat, but she swallowed it down with two big gulps. She readied an arrow and tried not to think about killing someone. Death didn’t bother her. Nor did the thought of killing someone in battle, because the reality of the freedoms of Kelldonia is that someone always wanted to take them away. She just figured she’d be much older when this unfortunate day came.
“Aim in the center of his chest or back. Make sure to account for the wind.” Father drew his own arrow from the quiver. “I’ll take out the captain.”
Jux flapped his wings with haste, drawing them within striking distance of the first vessel. The lone ship with orange furled sails had anchored just outside the deep bay of Kelldonia’s port. The sailors had spotted their approach. The pirates scurried aboard the vessel, sliding and diving for cover.
They knew the drill.
A draka could decimate their ship in an instant. But that wasn’t father’s plan. His plan was to kill Jo-ban, and end this siege once and for all.
Father had never mentioned Jo-ban by name—until today. The namelessness of his enemy was a stark reminder of the bitterness that undergirded their rivalry.
She’d be glad when this day was over.
The coxswain ducked for cover near the stern of the ship. But the wooden rungs of the helm wouldn’t provide the protection he needed. Merrileen took aim at the bearded man huddled in a blue overcoat.
She fired.
The arrow sailed through the sky and found its home. The man recoiled from the strike to his lower abdomen. Not the most accurate shot, but it would do.
The hiss of father’s bow string sounded twice. He fired at the retreating Corol captain. Jo-ban rushed toward the bow of the ship. Long strands of reddish-brown seaweed-like hair flowed from under his tricorn hat. A loose-fitting linen shirt barely concealed his corded blue muscles. Using the mast for cover, the pirate leapt out of sight. Only his hand remained visible. His we
bbed fingers wrapped around the metal shaft of his Corol spear. A serrated megalodon tooth sat fixed on top. The weapon was dangerous. Heaved with enough strength it could kill or maim a draka. The unique spearhead was one of only a few substances on Nod that could split draka hide with ease.
Her father needed to be careful. If Jux were injured, the battle would be short. Their winged mount gave them the best chance of repelling the invaders.
Father yanked on the reef draka’s reins. Jux circled around the ship. The maneuver gave Merrileen a clear view of Xilgo. His shasu encircled the nearest boat while Gwerin lay down covering fire. The orckin battled his way across the main deck. With a curved blade in one hand and a battle-axe in the other, he dispatched two and three pirates at a time. A wake of dead and dying sailors trailed behind him.
“Merr, we are gonna get wet. Hold on…” As father finished the sentence he let out a yelp. His chin pounded so hard against her shoulder she thought he’d been knocked out. He slumped over her back.
“Father?”
He coughed a few times before pushing back.
“Father, are you fit?” Merrileen took hold of the reins and finished directing Jux into a perpendicular approach to the ship. The starboard side grew with each passing sil.
“Shock them.” Father’s voice obviously clutching back pain.
She knew what to do. When the reef draka drew within a few yards of the ship, she screamed, “Ramulus!”
On command, Jux angled his wings and dropped his large belly into the sea. An enormous wave splashed forth, rocking the boat under a deep layer of seawater. The main mast dipped toward the sea, almost disappearing before rising back in Merrileen’s direction. Water spilled like cascades from the portholes and deck openings.
Father yelled from her shoulder. “Ictus!”
A sizzle, like hot lard in a frying pan, emanated from Jux’s belly. The ends of Merrileen’s hair pulled to the sky like an invisible person had been pulling on them. Repetitive shrieks clattered forth from every soaked pirate locked in the surge of electric death. Jux’s drakruach—breath weapon—conducted wave upon wave of electric current through the seawater. Any pirate caught by the ocean spray, had also been trapped in death’s ungainly grasp.
Merrileen scanned the deck for Jo-ban. But he was nowhere to be found. Any Corol worth his fins would have disappeared in the tidal splash, they swam better than most fish. She dropped her shoulders. With her maneuver, she’d unintentionally provided an easy escape.
Jo-ban was gone.
6
Hate fills the caverns of an empty man’s soul.
Kethian Proverb
Merrileen ordered Jux to destroy the ship. His razor-sharp talons gashed the hull and the boat began to sink. A snap of his jaws around the thick mainmast sent splinters across the deck. The crow’s nest plummeted into the water along with its frightened occupant.
With the kick of her heels, Merrileen prodded Jux into the sky.
Xilgo had already set fire to the ship he’d attacked. Three distinct pillars of smoke rose high about the masts.
That was quick.
The remaining pirate ships were all in various stages of raising their mainsails. Some of the more distant ship had already departed.
“Father, should we give chase and destroy as many as possible?”
He didn’t respond.
She slipped one leg over the saddle giving her the ability to face him. His face was as white as bleached coral. He breathed, but only barely.
What happened?
From the front he looked fine, but when she peered over his back she found the reason. Jo-ban’s spear had lodged itself into father’s ribcage. The weapon split through his travel cloak and leather armor with ease. The broad megalodon tooth lodged in his back. Deep enough the saw-like edges would make removal impossible without the help of a healer.
“Hold on.” Meerileen braced her father. She slipped one arm behind his back to support him. With the other, she found an exposed area of draka hide and pressed her fingertips firmly against the reef’s blue hide. Closing her eyes, she focused all of her being into her emotions.
Jux needed to know what she felt. She needed some of that leftover magic to work right now.
Without delay, the reef barked an agitated call. His wings churned as fast as Merrileen had ever seen.
Get us home.
Merrileen wasn’t normally a religious person, but she prayed with all her might. Ol just had to hear her cry for mercy. Father couldn’t lose his vigor. Not now. She still needed him. Mother still needed him. He had so much good left to do in Kelldonia.
She clutched father into her chest, while the ocean blurred beneath them. “Hold on, Father. Hold on.”
Within minutes, Jux had carried them home. Deciduous forest traded places with the ocean below. They approached a complex of two-story stone buildings surrounded by an aging stone wall. A mixed race crowd loitered in the courtyard and upon sight of the reef draka a victorious cheer erupted.
But there was no great victory for Merrileen. Not while father was hurt.
The multi-colored crowd separated enough that Jux could land in the cobblestone courtyard. The draka landed amid much fanfare, but Merrileen wished they would all shut up.
“Help! I need help.” Merrileen cried out to the onlookers. “I need a healer.”
A short Dwarol man, no more than four feet high, rushed to her side. He carried the customary belt pouches of a healer. A much taller man hurried alongside him. The men helped retrieve father from the saddle. Holding tight to father’s upper arm, she guided him into the awaiting hands. The Dwarol healer examined the wound as Jux dropped to his belly.
Merrileen hopped to the ground. “What can I do?”
The elderly Dwarol didn’t respond at first. His fingers stroked through the ends of his gray beard. He looked at the other man. They locked eyes but said nothing.
A sickness rose in Merrileen’s belly.
The healer took her hand in his tiny palm. “Child. Your father has lost his vigor, he’s gone.”
Her father’s body rested between the men. His lifeless head hung over the Dwarol’s knee and his mouth hung slack. Tears formed in the corner of Merrileen’s eyes. She wasn’t going to let herself cry—not here. The crowd needed to see her resilience. But try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the salty drops that streaked down her pale blue cheeks.
Pain shot up her thighs as her knees crashed hard against the stone below.
Father didn’t deserve to die. She moved to clutch her father’s head against her thighs. The onlookers backed away while her tears fell like rain on his ghostly skin.
How could she tell mother? She’d be devastated.
Merrileen stroked her fingers across his lifeless jawline. The late day’s stubble pricked her fingertips. Father had a strong jaw, one she’d never appreciated until now.
With a tug, she pulled the spear from her father’s back. She didn’t want mother to see him like that. With gentle precision, she crossed her father’s arms across his chest and brushed his mouth and eyes closed.
Better.
She attempted to quell the anger in her voice, “Find my mother.”
Using the spear for support, she pulled herself to her feet and looked back in the direction of the bay.
Jo-ban will pay.
This matter wasn’t settled. Nowhere in Nod would be safe for him. One day she’d find him. And when that day came—Merrileen squeezed the spear so hard her knuckles turned lost all color—she’d reintroduce him to the violent end of the shaft.
Bonus First Chapter:
The Last Waveson
* * *
The sludge between Avortovar Maligtonay’s teeth tasted like wet sheep runk. Face down in the mud, he wished he didn’t already know what that tasted like.
Sucking sounds burped from the dark mire as he pulled his head free.
His normally free-flowing hair stuck to his chin. Thick globs coated the ends of what u
sed to be golden hair. Cheers from the crowd echoed in the depression of muck and slime, but they didn’t cheer for him. Some of them had to be snickering at him while he lay prone in the mud on the final obstacle of the qualification event.
He pushed to his feet searching for any clean spot of his shirt from which he could wipe the grime from his eyes. A group of other twelve-cycle-old boys almost knocked him from his feet as they bumped past.
Avo eyed the steep hill on the other bank of the tar-like pit and took off. Dropping to his knees at the bottom of it, he crawled on all fours up the bank. He knew he looked like a moving lump of bog peat, but he didn’t care.
He’d already failed. The fall had cost him everything.
Once he reached the top, the sight of a large group of boys gathered at the finish line spurred him onward. He hustled down the straight path to join them.
When he crossed the finish line, a trumpet blared near him. His heart jumped and instinctively he covered his ears.
The qualification was over.
He searched the area hoping to locate the recorder of points for Coldcreek County competitors. Once he located the scribe, he handed him his final leather marker, and stated his name, “Avortovar Maligtonay.”
“Thank you.” The scribe never looked up at him. Instead, he scribbled in his ledger and turned his attention to the two other boys who walked up to turn in their markers.
Movement at the finish line caught Avo’s attention. A silver-haired man dressed in a fancy gold-trimmed shirt walked to a wooden podium situated atop of a platform some five feet off the ground.
He cleared his throat before belting, “Lord Gundersop is proud to announce the completion of the first of three qualifications in cycle 1145. All twelve-cycle-old qualificants, and at least one parent or supervising family member, must report in one hour to the town center for final selection.”
