The Waters of Nyra- Volume I

by Kelly Michelle Baker

“I see,” she snorted. “So what are you saying? The adults aren’t reproducing on purpose?”

  “Well,” he said in a rising voice. “It wouldn’t be such a stupid idea, as a matter of fact—”

  He stopped, horrified, staring past her. Nyra swung around, tail raised.

  A Sperk was staring in their direction from the nearest shore.

  Splashing sounds met their ears as Thaydra drew close.

  “Drifting off in many ways, I see,” tutted Thaydra, wading toward them. “You two can’t be chatting if it distracts you. And never raise your voice on the job. Or off the job. That would make me happy. It garners bad attention.”

  She moved to the bank, shaking droplets from one foot at a time. The dragglings followed.

  “I’m famished,” said Thaydra. “I’m guessing you are as well. I’ve made us a stash. Ready for a break?”

  Nyra glanced back to the far shore. The Sperk was gone.

  “Uh-huh,” said Blaze. On the bank teetered a hefty pile of fish, one-hundred percent of which went to Thaydra’s credit.

  Being useless was exhausting.

  “You’ve been getting better, I think. I’ve been watching. Perhaps after eating you’ll make your first catch and—Opalheart? You’ve come!”

  Thaydra looked beyond the dragglings to a Sperk coming their way. A different one. This one was younger, neither child nor adult. It was Opalheart, a spirited beast, and Mother’s rumored chatting companion; a concept so preposterous that Nyra and Blaze accepted it as a joke. It put a distorted picture in Nyra’s head. True that Opalheart came off friendly, never shouting at Agrings, often throwing a smile. Still, the draggling could not fathom amiable relations with anything resembling Darkmoon. Yet Mother had described Opalheart as a good conver-sationalist. Nyra could not believe a Sperk truly friendly, and would dismiss Mother’s recounting as whimsy (a habit for which Thaydra was commonly inclined).

  Nyra’s shoulders tightened. Opalheart headed towards them fast. Way too fast. You-are-in-deep-trouble fast. His giddy eyes made it all the more disturbing.

  “You’re awfully chipper today,” said Thaydra warmly. “Have you been practicing?”

  At one length off, the young Sperk halted, his blue bulk sinking generously into the soggy bank. “I caught one last night just after you left.” He had a very young voice, somewhere between adolescence and maturity, rumbled by the characteristic roar in all Sperks. He was nearly as large as an adult.

  “Ha! I knew it was coming,” exclaimed Thaydra. Then, in an unexpected fervor, she leaped into the air and batted her nose with the Sperk’s. She landed elegantly. Mother had made this jump before.

  The Sperk shook his head, embarrassed, but his posture held up proudly. “You knew?” he mocked. “The same Agring who said a Sperk’s reflexes are more depressing than its bottom?” He chuckled. “At least we aren’t scrawny. You can’t take off without a running head start. What do you say to that?”

  “Take off?” said Thaydra, astonished. Her wing snapped out. “You think I need gargantuan hindquarters to take off? I’m a champion!”

  Then they were both guffawing. Nyra looked back and forth. On one side was her petite, lamed mother, and on the other a youthful monster. The picture was like a cracked reflection on a tarnished water surface, and she couldn’t tell what rested in the image beyond. Everything was imprecise.

  Thaydra and the Sperk recovered. He spoke first. “Well, since the queen-of-fishing speaks so lowly of us commoners, I thought she’d pay witness first hand. Perhaps offer some light criticism?”

  The mother Agring huffed with exaggerated skepticism. “Too many words in your mouth. You sound like Darkmoon.”

  “Watch me catch and make comments. Preferably constructive ones?”

  “Fine,” said Thaydra, smiling. “But I expect to be very bored. Would you mind waiting another hour? We just got on break.” She nodded to Blaze and Nyra. “They’ve been working all morning.”

  The dragglings squirmed as the Sperk leveled his head to their height.

  “You know my children, of course,” said Thaydra.

  Nyra swallowed a scream. Opalheart’s eyes were almost as big as her face., so close that she feared any breath on her part would fog them up.

  “Ha,” laughed Opalheart. “Knowing is relative. Do occasional nods, yes’s and no’s count?”

  “Oh, you are such a Sperk,” chided Thaydra. “Here’s to formality: Opalheart, this is Blaze and Nyra. Nyra and Blaze, Opalheart.”

  Blaze spittle-coughed, zinging the Sperks left eye closed. Opalheart wiped it.

  “Nice to formally meet you, too,” Opalheart said.

  Blaze delivered four hefty hiccups before speaking. “Oh Mum,” he quaked. “I thought your Opalheart-thing was a joke.”

  Thaydra cocked her head. “My thing?”

  “Yes,” Blaze said, wringing his paw so quickly it blurred. “That you were, you know, kind of friends with a Sperk. That was… that was fake.”

  Opalheart backed away a little, but not enough for Nyra’s favor. Maybe if he backed out of sight into the trees she would start breathing again.

  “I’m not on good terms with most Agrings,” explained Opalheart. “In fact, after spending so much time with your Mum, I’m not on great terms with a lot of Sperks either.”

  “Nyra and Blaze will not hate you, I’m sure,” said Thaydra, giving Blaze and Nyra an ‘or else’ expression.

  Blaze gulped thickly. “We just don’t know any Sperks all that well.”

  Opalheart stepped forward. “Except for chatting with Darkmoon yesterday?” he prompted. “That must have made a few scales turn white.”

  Yes, Nyra confirmed. Everyone knew about last evening’s encounter.

  Opalheart nudged Thaydra. “You said you were breaking now?”

  “We all are,” said Thaydra, nodding to her dragglings.

  “Hmmm…” he said.

  “What?” challenged Thaydra. “Afraid I’ll eat all your fish?”

  “No no,” he said. “I was actually thinking about Blaze and Nyra. About how hungry they are.”

  Thaydra clacked her tongue. “They won’t eat all the fish either.”

  “My point,” said the Sperk, a hint of trepidation creeping in his voice, “is that if they are not so famished now, or if I’ve chased off their appetite, I was wondering if they’d like to join me at the Scar.”

  Air plummeted to Nyra’s empty stomach, pinching away her hunger.

  “You’ve never been down the Scar before, I take it?” pressed the Sperk, looking at the dragglings.

  “I’m starving!” Blaze cried. Nyra jumped. So did Opalheart. Thaydra beamed.

  “What a marvelous suggestion!” she cried. “True to protocol, these two have never been on the Scar.” She faced the dragglings, and her ears rose to greet her mounting excitement. “What do you think?”

  “But I’m...” Blaze ventured.

  “It’s a great place to hunt during spawning, on the upper end where it isn’t so dangerous,” said Thaydra. “I’ve had special permission to fish there a few times when the current was shallow. But right now it’s a dead-spot until the fall. Salmon loiter on the coast until the krill are gone.”

  “Uh…” started Blaze.

  “I’ll keep Fuhorn company once she gets here,” said Thaydra. “But Opalheart, you won’t be in trouble, will you?” Her brow creased worriedly, but a giant smile belied her concern.

  He snorted indignantly and waved a paw. Either it was no trouble or he did not care about the consequences.

  “You three go ahead, then,” Thaydra exclaimed.

  Nyra could feel Blaze’s shivering quake through the ground. They needed an excuse. Going off with a Sperk alone? Whatever was happening, it was happening faster than thinking, faster than reasoning. Nyra was about ready to explode.

  Blaze’s body drilled on. “We can’t,” he said to Thaydra. “You said that we had to stay with you all day.”

  “I think this will be go
od for you. In many ways,” she said before turning to Opalheart. “Don’t be longer than an hour. I need them back in time to eat something.” Thaydra swished her tail. “Get them as close to the shore as possible. Just don’t kill them in the current.”

  Opalheart grinned. “I’ll try to bring them back alive.”

  “How sad is it that they’ve never even touched salt water? Oh, Opalheart, you are a darling.” Excitement was gushing out of Thaydra like rivers. Try though she might, Nyra was unable to snatch a droplet. In fact, she felt so desiccated by anxiety she could crack in half.

  “Shall we?” Opalheart said brightly. He trotted off to the west bank, not even checking to see if the dragglings were following.

  They were rooted into place.

  “Go!” Thaydra whispered sharply. “And enjoy it!”

  Chapter 4: Purple Dragons

  Nyra had seen the Scar many times, always at a safe distance. According to Grandma Tega, the Scar was the closest thing to a beach the Nammock herd would ever know. Know, but not touch. Water flowed leisurely from the lip of the Reservoir but picked up momentum in its tumble down, so brutally that Agrings were not allowed anywhere near. Thaydra was the sole exception, until now.

  At the bulky haunches of Opalheart, the dragglings padded towards what was, as far as Nyra knew, the most treacherous portion of the continent.

  “Is it ever confusing for you, Nyra, being named after your homeland?” said Opalheart, several giant paces ahead.

  Nyra slowed, keeping good distance between herself and the monster. Maybe he’d forget the question if she was far enough away.

  “Come on,” he prompted. He stopped, waiting for her to catch up.

  Nyra ambled forward, feet dragging as though in mud. Opalheart looked humored.

  “I’m sure her name’s been tripped over once or twice, hasn’t it?” he said to Blaze. Small steps carried the gray draggling closer to the Sperk, putting Opalheart on the left, Blaze on the right, and Nyra in the middle between brother and beast.

  “Sometimes,” Nyra said, barely remembering Opalheart’s question.

  Blaze coughed weakly. “All the time,” he added.

  “Not all the time,” said Nyra.

  “Then when?” asked Opalheart.

  “Well,” said Nyra, cautiously, “not too often.” She had many opinions on the matter of her name. The trouble was she had never shared them outside her own species. But Opalheart’s gaze was prying, and the innate habit to obey kicked in.

  “Nyra is the name of the entire continent,” the red draggling murmured. “We only live in a tiny, tiny part of it. We usually just say ‘home’ or ‘Northern Coast.’ So usually when anyone says Nyra, they mean me.”

  “Hmm,” mused Opalheart. “I’d be thrown off if my name were that important. What if something so common were called an ‘Opalheart?’ Such as fish or water. I’d be eating myself all the time!” He looked at her again. Nyra had no other information, no lingering opinions. Not for him, anyway. Then it occurred that he wanted her to laugh. Seeing his bemusement, Nyra felt a smile coming on. It’s not funny, she told herself, frowning forcefully. Blaze looked similarly strained.

  The land dipped beneath their feet, beginning the water’s long spill down the eroded bank. They’d reached the Scar. Great chunks of ground rose from the current; the remnants of a once jagged cliff face. Over the years, the flow had ripped the face to shreds, leaving a myriad bed of sands and towers of stone.

  “Let us go!” cried the Sperk. Droplets smacked the dragglings as Opalheart bounded into the rushing water. “Can’t be dry all the time.”

  Blaze and Nyra watched in the way a fatigued sitter watches an unruly child. The biggest child in history, the kind which need to be placated before minding.

  Nyra drummed her front toes in the water, expecting the bite of mountain rain to nip her claw tips. But it was warm, much warmer than the depths where she’d fished. Running so shallowly, the sun could beat down through the thin membrane and heat it quickly. Or so she supposed. Mother would know why. Perhaps Opalheart would too, though she was not curious enough to ask anything of a Sperk.

  “There. All wet,” she declared.

  “Wetter,” challenged the Sperk.

  She urged her foot forward until it slid beneath the river pebbles. Then the current crept up her foreleg.

  Opalheart moved aside, revealing a large boulder on the Scar’s other end. Crashes resonated from the water rounding its contours, so brutally that it blocked the sea below from view, spraying up into the sky. Nyra heard this sound faintly wherever she went. From atop the cliffs, from her den, and most of all from the Reservoir bank. Now the sound was intensified, louder than ever before. And different too, the way thunder evolved from a rumble to a clash the closer it came.

  She pressed on towards the flow’s center. The water grew colder. Nyra crouched to her belly, brushing the volatile surface, hoping to keep from drifting downstream. She moved until she could peer around the massive boulder and spray. Then she saw it.

  The Vousille Ocean rested picturesquely under the heavens, taking up almost half of the world. Always perched upon the cliff edges, Nyra had never seen it at this angle. The ocean looked abnormally high in the sky. It was a window to everything West, with wafting mist lining the mantle. The current roared, heaving through the river’s throat. Nyra quelled an impulse to be carried away to the open blue.

  “It’s been here the whole time,” she breathed.

  Coming closer, the spray on the rocks revealed shapes. Fissures furled from white clouds, some spewing like wild animal fur, others curling in seeps like smoky Sperk nostrils. From each issued fuzzy rainbows, whirling together in a wonder of texture and color.

  “Stay close,” advised Opalheart, shouting over the noise. Carefully, he took a place in the deeper current, at leg’s reach from Nyra. Blaze followed behind.

  A shadow loomed where the sea began, obscured in spray. Another boulder, Nyra assumed. But it was smaller than the rest, bulky in some places but slender in others. Perhaps a great plant growing from a mound of sea soil.

  Then, shrouded in the deafening current, came a voice.

  “Drifting on the sea of seas,

  By a lulling, pulling breeze.

  Floating on the rain of rains,

  Aided in serenest feigns.”

  The words were muffled in the mist, but she caught every one. The voice sang in a high, elegant octave. She had never heard anything quite like it, yet a familiar timbre bled through each note.

  “Soaring on the frost of frosts,

  No ties hyper those who’ve lost.

  Balanced on the dawn of dawns,

  Deduce what’s said to quiescent pawns.

  Follow in, they follow in,

  In to greet the beautied sin.”

  Something grazed her wingtips. Nyra jumped. Opalheart towered above, transfixed.

  “Shush,” he said urgently. “She’ll stop if she hears us… oh, too late.”

  Nyra’s forehead crinkled, confused. Turning back to the mist, she jolted. Bristone, the Sperk from the footholds, galloped out as the music suddenly stopped.

  “A solo symphony, Bristone?” called Opalheart. The white-hot brightness of his enthusiasm had cooled to intrigue. “Again?”

  “Why are you down here?” said Bristone testily. White water beaded over her arching brows.

  Opalheart’s jovial features sagged. A daze overcame him, and it was as though the Sperk had forgotten why he was there. Nyra gripped the fluid soil at her feet, inferring she’d be on her own if the current decided to sweep her away.

  “I was just giving a tour,” said Opalheart.

  A flash of silver caught Nyra’s eye. Craning around, she lost her footing before Blaze took her shoulder. He’d snuck to her side. She stood up again. Opalheart jumped and regarded the dragglings with fresh excitement.

  “Thaydra’s offspring came today!” he chimed. “Different, is it not?”

  Bristone sta
red on, either uninterested or skeptical.

  “Yes. Different,” she agreed carefully. “But why are they here?”

  Opalheart waved a paw over the dragglings’ heads, emphasizing their presence. “Did I not just say?

  “Was that your real reason?” said Bristone.

  “Would I have any other reason?” he asked, a cheekiness creeping into his face. At breast level, Nyra saw his limbs go wobbly.

  “Would you?” said Bristone.

  “Would I?” said Opalheart.

  “Must your inquiries be so circuitous?”

  “Must we use exhausting language?” he smirked. Nyra thought of Mother’s advice for him to use smaller words.

  Bristone’s eyes narrowed so much they nearly closed. Flexing her jaw, she looked like she was about to soften. “I suppose we mustn’t. For now.”

  Blaze, splotched with water, eased up against Nyra. Cold droplets shocked her skin.

  “He’s got the smitten for her,” Blaze whispered, hot breath tickling her ear.

  “Hush it,” Nyra spat, pushing him away. She was pretty sure that ‘the smitten’ wasn’t an actual phrase. But neither Sperk appeared to hear.

  Blaze fidgeted. He began sucking his tongue, as he often did when debating whether or not to speak.

  “What is it?” asked Nyra.

  He swallowed, pressing to her ear again. “What song was she singing?” he whispered.

  “Um—” started Nyra. Bristone shifted her attention from Opalheart. She found Nyra, and took an authoritative step forward.

  “The song,” she interjected, “is part of a myth, about a species of which you’ve not heard.”

  “Care to elaborate?” asked Opalheart. The male Sperk spoke with an edge, like he was engaged in competition rather than conversation. The lines of his smile practiced, Nyra assumed it was a game he played often, whatever it was. And Bristone, judging by the continued narrowing of her eyes, was not oblivious.

  Nevertheless, she answered. “The song is that of a dark predator whose scales rise above its skin. Some have thought it a lullaby. But I believe it is a hunting call.” She said the last phrase so darkly, with such poise, that it was clear the subject would not be debated. Nyra wondered what a hunting call was, and why singing had anything to do with hunting. Maybe this was all Bristone knew. Perhaps the Sperk was embarrassed for having been caught in song, and did not want any other excuse for the others to hang around. Or she simply didn’t want to be instigated by the jolly Opalheart.