A Leaf and Pebble

by Andrew Monroe

  There were certain upsides though. The view was exceptional. Fresh seafood. Entertaining sailors who seemed to be truly passionate about everything. Plus, a taste of danger lurked just below the water’s surface, and far on the horizon, a natural line in the water sat, indicating the dead zone.

  “It’s just like the books say,” Rook mused once we were out of the harbor with a good stretch of sea between us and Kalaran. “My first day on the ship, I made them take me out to see it. We got just close enough that I had a good view of the change. With all my pushing and prodding, the men still wouldn’t go near the line.”

  “What did it look like?” Volant had a faraway look, trying to imagine the great line in the sea.

  “Just like you’ve heard. This greenish water that you see all around you right now, pretty clear to see under.” He gestured off handedly, indicating everything around us. “Then at the great line, a perfect break. It turns dark, midnight blue. From a distance it’s very distinct. Closer up, still noticeable but a little less precise, oddly.”

  “I read it’s because we sit on a rock shelf.” I was munching on a rogue apple I’d found in Rook’s room. “Did you see any of the creatures?”

  “Yes. And no,” replied Rook. “It’s definitely a difference of depth. As for the creatures, we didn’t get close enough to rouse them. Or maybe they are always awake, and just wait for a ship to get close enough to the deeper water.” Pointing to one of the men whittling on a wooden pipe block down the deck from us, Rook took on a more serious tone. “That man, Woreth, has seen one. Up close and personal. He was on a ship that was blown away from the coastal waters one day. Barely crossed the line before the ship was obliterated from below. His brother and him were the only survivors.” A pause. “Eh, survivor may not be right. His brother hasn’t spoken since then. Just sits in a windowless room back in their hometown. Woreth won’t talk about either his brother or that night, though he showed me a drawing he keeps with him. Chilled my blood.”

  “Gods,” I whispered. “Water is scary enough on its own without monstrous fish.”

  “Right?” Volant agreed.

  Rook just nodded. “There was a moment when we got close to the line,” he said eyes going distant. “Sent tingles down my spine.”

  “And?” Volant asked when Rook said nothing else.

  “All of the fish. They fled the great line when we got as close as the sailors would go. I looked over the side after getting my view, and below was a quietly streaming horde of every fish imaginable, predators, prey, and everything in between. All rushing from the open sea towards the coast. Away from the break. Shortly after the water settled, not a fish could be seen. Eerily placid.”

  “Yup, that’d be a bit scary,” Volant said in a hushed tone.

  Twenty-four

  Nothing changed besides the coast line we hugged along the way to Erset. Caves, coves, bays, and peninsulas dotted the coast in jagged lines as if the land itself had been torn in half. Every so often, a very small beach was able to be seen, but mostly the northern part of Balteris was made of a high rock shelf thrusting from the water in defiance of our boat. Occasionally, another ship passed by, larger, but even the few that began to approach us would change course when the Aye’s colors were flashed at them.

  “I would ask if we should be worried about pirates, but it seems they are more worried about you,” I said casually after a huge, three mast ship had practically tore its sail from turning so fast after getting close enough to see our flag.

  A few sailors chuckled at this as they were going about their business nearby. Volant and I, being useless at sea, had staked claim on the open-air storage pile. Most of the men, and one woman who was particularly intent on letting us know she was better than us in every way, made a point of stopping to talk whenever they were done with whatever it was sailors seemed to do. Mostly tying and untying things, my untrained eyes told me.

  “Yar. We most likely won’t have any trouble with dat ilk,” said a gruff man. Rook agreed and passed a skin to the man, inviting him to sit. “We had an issue for a bit before Rook. But he taught us some tricks.” A fist bump with another sailor and they all laughed. “Pretty much, we gave just about every pirate this side of Balteris a hurtin’ to remember. Words got out since then. Nobody comes near the Aye no more.” Both of us pressed the crew and Rook for more information. But none would talk about it. All we got was a reference to the Week of Night. Before long, we realized no one would give us details, and resigned ourselves to mild curiosity.

  With a loud thump, a heavy wooden board landed in front of my feet. I looked up, finding Rook and his fox cunning eyes twinkling a few paces away from me.

  “You don’t think I’ve stopped being your teacher just because you got a scratch and nearly died.” Rook held out an old hatchet, and in the other hand had an arrow. “Let’s see what you can do with these.”

  While Volant was put to work fencing with the ship’s resident swords master, Rook and I practiced throwing the hatchet at the board after I finished mounting it to the mast. Overhand, underhand, and sideways- I threw hundreds of times with both arms until they were jelly. Then, we moved to the throwing knives, until both arms gave out.

  By evening, we were on the fifth board I’d replaced on the mast, and Volant had joined us with a bow he’d borrowed from one of the sailors. Rook took joy in humbling us both, lecturing us on tiny mistakes that made us less efficient or effective.

  When I thought we’d finally finished, Rook handed me an arrow, but no bow. I looked down at it, confused. It was a target arrow, just a pointed tip capping a shaft. No angularity to keep it stuck in whatever it hit.

  “I want you to try a trick I saw a Learner once do. This woman used her Skill to spring an arrow from her hands, and dropped a man from a hundred paces.” He shook his head amazed. “I don’t know many bowmen who could have made the shot.”

  I took the arrow, grabbing it like a javelin. “Spring it out?”

  Rook shook his head, taking the arrow from me. He grabbed the base of the arrow so the fletching stuck out between his fingers, and the notched end rested lightly in his palm. “She held it like this, and when she opened her fingers, the arrow sprung as if shot from a large bow.” He handed it back to me. “That’s all I know, Learner Skill has ironically been something I’ve been unable to learn. Don’t shoot any of my sailors!”

  Before I could say anything, Rook sauntered off. With a concentration of will, I brought Skill to my hand and palm. Something went wrong, and the arrow ricocheted out of my hand, the fletching slicing my finger.

  Cursing, I picked it back up. This time I tried to just rest the arrow on my palm while only using Skill from my finger tips to balance it. Putting the pressure from that many directions was difficult, but after a few tries I managed to keep it upright.

  From there it was just a matter of balancing out both sides of the equation in terms of force from my palm, and the output from my fingers. With some trial and error, and nearly a lost eye, I found an equilibrium to hold the arrow that had an amplification affect when I spread my fingers. The Skill that was holding the arrow down and in place against the output of my palm then added to it. I didn’t shoot any sailor, but the first success sent the arrow rocketing across the ship and far out into the sea, probably annoying some enormous sea creature.

  Volant was impressed. He’d been working on pushing the ships sail with a low energy wind manipulation at the direction of Rook’s most senior sailor. He easily added a pair of oarsman worth of speed, and I’d never seen him accomplish such a long and sustained Talent exertion. I was nearly as impressed as he was with my arrow trick.

  A few days of intensive training on the open sea had us falling back into a steady routine with Rook and nearly forgetting about what we’d discovered in Kalaran. It seemed Rook wasn’t surprised by anything we told him, though he also didn’t seem too interested in the bigger picture of God’s Fury. He’d just come back from the Mistlands in the west of Balte
ris, and would only say the questers hadn’t been wrong but he hadn’t been able to find the person responsible yet.

  Erset was too far away from traversable waters to have a port we could land at safely, but a minor town was built up on the eternity river that acted as a safe haven for smaller ships and passenger boats. Lacking creativity, the town was called Riverhaven by its residents. To the sailor’s disappointment, and my secret pleasure, we rowed the river inland.

  Tree roots lined either side of the enormous river, drinking greedily in a twisted mess of wood that completely hid any actual riverbank. By the time we reached Riverhaven’s mooring docks, my muscles were quivering in rebellion. Rowing was definitely not for me, I’d decided, but the exercise was better than anything. I wasn’t Volant strong, but getting marginally better. Entertaining thoughts of chasing women, I vowed to find a boat to row in circles when this was all said and done.

  A week of travel by ship had left us a little shaky in the legs. The ground now seemed to sway ever so slightly and it was both hilarious and tremendously annoying. Our first day was spent unloading cargo for Rook and trading it for piles of roughly cut wood, unripe fruits, and no small amount of coin. All in all, it was quick work for such profit. Piracy was beginning to look more like a last resort for the Aye more than anything.

  One of the despicable announcers, men who have played part tax collector and part gossip monger, came in to Riverhaven shortly after we landed. First order of business was to post updated propaganda around what passed as their town center. Xylex wasn’t kidding, and there was quite a bit about Learner superiority, along with paying taxes of course being needed more than ever. There was also a line in there to be on the lookout for devious Naturals that happened to match our descriptions rather closely.

  These guys were serious about the war it seemed. There were certainly no warm and fuzzy feelings being passed around. Inflammatory would be the best way to put it, if one was inclined to understatement.

  Rook sidled up to me while I read over the contents a second time. “We can’t let this war happen.” He didn’t even bother to whisper.

  I quickly looked around, afraid someone might overhear the conversation. A poster with the same descriptions of us had frayed my nerves. We were close to becoming pariahs. “How can we stop it?” I asked, a hint of anger lacing my words. “How is he even going to start it? You can’t just go around raising a call to arms. You can’t just say go fight each other, and people do it.”

  “True,” he replied, “but there’s more to this than we are seeing. This has been in the works for a long time it would appear.” Rook looked thoughtful as he toyed with his Waruin braid distractedly.

  We both mulled over the poster for a while longer without saying anything.

  “But what can either of us do to stop it, Rook? Anyone with any authority would have me arrested on the spot, or shun you out of hand.” I tugged at my hair in frustration.

  “I know,” he replied. “But we have to try. You have friends in Erset. Family. Talk to them about it. Convince them they need to stand strong, not choosing a side in this Naturals versus Learners escapade.” He put a hand on my shoulder, a warm smile on his face. “Everything in life is made up of the little things. Every big movement, and every momentous moment is just the momentum of a single, small act or thought. Notice the small stuff, Nil. History hinges on the little things we do and say.”

  “You don’t understand Erset,” I bitterly protested. Remembering what it was like when I left for Jorcum’s Higher Learning Academy. No one was thrilled I’d chosen to attend. “You know how much Erset hates Learners. I doubt an invading army would get them more riled up than the thought of a group of Learners telling them what to do. If it comes to it, they’ll fight, just to see less ‘abominations’ in Balteris.”

  “I know it’s going to be hard, but that’s when life gets fun.” Rook grabbed the corner of the poster and ripped it down. Strips of paper fluttered to the ground when he was done, confetti words whirling away on the wind. “Just remember to wander well, my friend. And may the gods ignore you.”

  Rook’s idea of fun was usually one step away from dying so I just sighed and shook my head.

  Twenty-five

  Our pseudo-pirate crew was headed back to Kalaran, and then possibly around to the west side of Brod so Rook could scout the Mistlands some more. Riverhaven was only a few days of walking to Erset, a mind-bogglingly short trip compared to where we’d been up until this point. Our goodbye to Rook was difficult, it was like a safety net being pulled out from under you right when you realized you didn’t know the first thing about swinging from trapezes.

  Without anyone noticing, Volant and I slipped out of the town early in the morning after the Aye had drifted just as stealthily back down the river. A sympathetic, or at least sycophantic resident had come the night before warning Rook that the traveling Announcer had heard about our removal and destruction of his wanted flyers. He seemed to be organizing a citizen’s brigade to take the ship and arrest everyone aboard come dawn. Though everyone had laughed at the idea of a bunch of citizens boarding Rook’s ship, we all agreed that it’d be better to disappear than to slaughter some overzealous and bored river hands.

  “Still think killing the Announcer wouldn’t have been too bad,” Volant said as we picked our way through the woods.

  “You keep talking like that, and I may start forgetting how much you’ve cried after killing people.” I replied, hoping it came off as gently as I could. A branch flipped end over end towards me, forcing a clumsy dodge on my part.

  “I did not cry over Cralil, for the record. That was just hay poking me in the eye,” he growled.

  “Uh huh,” I said. “It’s all good, my flower loving friend. Killing should never come easy to us.” I looked over at him, nearly tripping over a partially decomposing log. “But that Announcer was more than the usual shade of awful.”

  “Yup, and he had a unibrow,” Volant pointed out.

  “Definitely justification in and of itself. We should probably turn around and take care of that after all.” I tossed a stick at him.

  Our laughter was absorbed into the trees as we trudged merrily on through the forest. We found a well-worn trail, that shouldn’t have been there half way to moonrise. There were hoof prints and wheel ruts. Practically a road in itself, where no road should be or have anywhere to be going. It was like finding a tavern in the middle of a river. Volant wasn’t nearly as concerned, but he hadn’t grown up here like I had.

  “I looked at the map in town,” Volant started. “I don’t think there was a road over here, but looks like we’re just finally getting our luck back!”

  “Not supposed to be, either,” I said, suspicion raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

  He squinted into the distance, trying to remember the map. “It was poorly drawn. But very detailed. Game trails. Outlying cabins. Logger’s paths. But nothing directly this way.” We both stared at the churned dirt. “Maybe we headed in the wrong direction?” Volant sounded confused more than anything.

  “No. We’re definitely headed east. The river’s north. West we’d be at Castle-fool road by now. Technically we could be headed south, but you and I aren’t that dumb.” I shook my head. “This just wasn’t on the map.” But, roads didn’t just appear in the wilderness without people knowing.

  “You’ve been here before,” Volant said. “Walked the woods, that is. Does it feel like we’re headed the wrong way?”

  I shook my head in answer, still staring at the ruts in front of us. Trees had been cleared. Stumps lined the roadway.

  “Sounds like we have to see where it goes, eh?” Volant sounded almost cheerful about it.

  “As stupid as I think that would be to do, I must agree,” I grumbled.

  “Regret is the poison-” Volant sang softly.

  “-that stems from should’ve-” I responded back.

  “-and has no antidote, so do what you would’ve!” We both finished in h
armony.

  It was a short road, and we followed the curious trail slightly off course just in case. We stumbled upon a sleeping sentry propped up against a tree, so the caution was warranted. Slowly, we snuck by as the woman dozed, curled up against roots shaped like a bench.

  Beyond the sentry, we found a clearing in the forest with a disorganized campsite pushing against the trees that lined it. Barrack-like tents, far less appealing than the Soft Stepper’s, dominated the clearing. Varying sizes of personal, or group sized tents dotted the spaces between in a disorienting lack of pattern. Heavily armed men and women went about the camp, unconcerned. The place had the look of a militia organization. Albeit one without discipline or uniform.

  “Looks like they cleared the trees, stump and all, to make those tents and tables.” I pointed at what seemed to be a gathering area filled with stools and tables under a shaded pavilion.

  “That’d explain the ground,” Volant said, his own finger pointing to the edge of the clearing.

  Trampled earth gave way to a mud, grass, and sawdust mixture layering the clearing like it was freshly turned logging site. A road ran the circumference of the campsite creating a packed dirt perimeter with a heavy tree line butting against the cleared ground. Volant flinched, causing me to look where he did.

  To the right of us, near where the road began to turn out of view, a Slither rider emerged. The mottled green, red, and black scales of the borgisling matched the dirty clothing of its rider, who was covered from the neck down in a mosaic of leather and cloth. The man’s moon-pale face seemed to float above the dark colors. Another three Slithers crawled onto the road behind the first. We were too far to see any details, but it still sent a chill down my spine. It’s not that the Slithers were evil, per say. More of they just tended towards violence solutions no matter what the situation was. And those borgislings with the big fangs, scaly skin, far too long tales and beady, soulless eyes were pretty horrifying. Combined, they were what mothers used to scare children into obedience.