by Anna Logan
“I thought he didn’t like water,” she said, glancing at the celith.
“He doesn’t.” Wylan was walking again, down the hill toward the riverbank. They all followed, arriving in time to catch the rest of what he had to say. “Ash is trained to respond, no matter what, to a whistle from me. Since he likes you,” he jerked his head toward Brenly, “I’m hoping that if one of us is on either side, we can get him to go back and forth just by whistling.”
“Oh,” Brenly nodded a little. “Okay, I’ll try it.” She ran back up the hill, turned, and gave a single whistle. Ash’s ears pricked toward her and he stood poised, ready to leap into action, her direction. Wylan gave his hindquarters a slap, and he bolted, charging up the hill to Brenly.
When she’d returned with the stallion in tow, Wylan continued. “Now, Naylen, maybe you take Brenly across. You two stay over there, I’ll call Ash back, and we’ll keep doing it, me going last. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Naylen stepped a little closer to Ash and Brenly, frowning. “If you promise he won’t throw me off as soon as we’re in the middle of the river. Can we tie Rosy to him and get her across first, too, with the gear?”
Minutes later, Naylen and Brenly were aboard Ash, with Rosy’s halter tied to the saddle, and their gear divided between her and the stallion. She gave him a kick with her heels at the same time as Wylan slapped his rump again, and he, seeming reluctant, waded into the water. Towards the center of the river Ash whinnied mournfully, as if complaining. But he soon had himself and his passengers safely to the opposite shore. Seles breathed a sigh of relief. Once they had dismounted, Wylan whistled, and back came Ash, plowing through the water with gusto.
Wylan swept his gaze over those remaining. Talea had a feeling he was working out how to arrange the crossings so that if Yhkon and Grrake were to appear or some other threat, there would be someone able to fight on either side. He must have come to the same conclusion as her, because he directed the twins and Seles to all go at once, saying Ash could handle three, especially three of the smallest members.
They made it across with as little difficulty as Naylen and Brenly had. Though by the time Ash returned, he was breathing hard and moving with less energy.
“Ready?” Wylan asked.
She eyed the distance from the ground to Ash’s back. Wylan had instructed Brenly to remove the saddle and attached gear once she was across, so that the celith would have a lighter load. “Um, yeah, how do I mou—”
“I’ll help.” He cupped his hands together and put them just below her waist level.
Here goes. Talea put her foot into his hands, grabbing Ash’s mane as Wylan boosted her up and onto his back. She squirmed her way farther back onto the stallion’s hindquarters, to give Wylan room in front of her. Somehow, he managed to half jump, half lift himself up and into position. He applied pressure with his ankles to Ash’s sides, urging the steed into the water at a walk.
Talea smiled to herself. Riding a powerful celith was ten times better than riding Rosy, which was the only thing she had to compare it to. Even trudging through water, Ash’s gait was smoother. He was higher up. And besides, he was a beautiful, dignified celith; a creature she’d never expected to see in her lifetime, let alone ride.
Such inner revels were interrupted as Ash stumbled a bit, coming into the deeper, faster moving part of the river. She put her hands out to either side of her for balance.
Wylan rotated his upper body to give her a smirk and a quirked eyebrow. “I won’t bite, you know.”
Her initial reaction of surprise, that he’d not only spoken without prodding but had also said something playful, gave way to a tease of her own. “One has to wonder, sometimes.”
He only smiled skeptically and faced forward. When Ash unexpectedly lurched forward as he transitioned from walking to swimming, she went ahead and, tentatively, grabbed Wylan’s shirt, just enough to afford some stability. As promised, he didn’t bite.
“Wylan, upstream!” Naylen’s warning rose above the noise of rushing water around them.
Talea jerked her head to look upstream, as did Wylan. Some branches, a log, and other debris were being carried by the current toward them. Knowing Ash, he’d probably buck them off if so much as a twig touched him.
Wylan gave the stallion a kick, cueing him into a faster pace. He didn’t seem concerned, so Talea relaxed her posture again. At this rate they’d be out of the water in just a few—
A muted whistle brought her head jerking back up, as well as Ash’s. It was distant, coming from somewhere behind them, barely audible. Also barely audible was Wylan’s whispered curse, right before Ash snorted and spun around, back toward the side they’d left.
Talea gripped Wylan with both hands now, as he tugged on the reins, trying to turn the celith around. Ash, snorting again, obeyed. Not fast enough. The first few branches whipped the stallion’s side and his riders’ legs at the same moment as another whistle sounded. Talea gasped as Ash reared. Gravity drew her toward the churning water, the bare back of a wet celith offering no traction. Her fingers squeezed like a claw around Wylan’s shirt, one arm flung by instinct around his waist. But Wylan was falling too.
Falling, a splash, darkness, the immediate surge of panic as her source of oxygen was lost and frigid water took its place. The current pulled at her without mercy, holding her under its surface and shipping her downriver. She flailed her arms, only to have them hit Wylan, reminding her that he was submerged too, apparently keeping a hold on her. She could feel his grip now, tight on her upper arm. Air. Her lungs were burning. Muscles stiff. All she could see was a murky blur. With heed to Wylan’s location, she reached up, pulled down; as if trying to climb a ladder to the surface. Nothing. Nothing! She was trapped, the water enveloping her, with no way out. I can’t swim! What had once been a mere fact had become the means of her end. The burn only worsened, taking hold of her and spreading, threatening to split her ribcage. The swirling pull of the current, the darkness…blackness…
Cold space replaced the engulfing prison. Air caressed her skin and sent a shiver down her spine. But the burn was still there, her throat was clogged, couldn’t breathe…Her body convulsed, coughing up water. She gasped in a painful breath, and another, drawing in as much as she could. Something was tugging at her arm. Someone was yelling, somewhere far away.
“Talea?” Wylan’s voice, strained. It was his hand tugging at her arm. She twisted around to grab his wrist with her other hand, now facing him. He held her with one arm and anchored them both against the current to an overhanging tree branch with the other. The surge of panic rose again, as she saw the branch snap, a second before she was plunged back into the darkness.
Wylan’s grasp on her slipped, and he was gone. Frenzy sent adrenaline into her limbs, pumping her legs and arms that felt like they were made of stone. Struggling for the surface, fighting the current. Something hit her shoulder, hard and forceful. The fiery burn, so unlike the icy water that smothered her, was returning. Talea flung her hand in the direction of the thing that had impacted her…There! Her fingernails dug into wood. She threw herself at it, found purchase on both hands, and pulled.
Her head broke the surface, the tingling chill of air on her wet skin. Yes! She breathed deep, simultaneously hauling herself higher onto the log, until it supported her upper body. Adding to the thunderous din of the river, more muffled shouting—it was Naylen, and her mother, and the others. Where was…“W-Wylan?” her voice came out weak and garbled, as she searched the roaring, merciless waters around her. His motionless body was being carried along, ahead of her by a few yards. He wasn’t moving, not even trying to surface. Unconscious, or dead. Have to…reach him…An ache built in her throat, her gut clenching. Go. Go! Without allowing time for more fear, Talea propelled herself off the log. The momentum brought her just far enough to grab hold of his leg, before she sank under the foaming white water. The noise and chaos that had been her shroud gave way to the stormy water, the obscurity, the suppressed so
unds and the weight, the cage. She got hold of Wylan’s torso. Kicked her legs, thrashed her free arm. Closer, closer to the taunting light above, closer to air. But whatever strength had gotten her there was running out. Every muscle was wooden with exhaustion. The river relentlessly fought her, dragging her down. She kicked until she could kick no more. Struggled until finally, there was nothing to do but surrender to the blackness and fade away.
10
Wardens
N aylen came to a skidding, panting halt. The situation, as a whole, wasn’t a good one. His sister and Wylan had been dumped into the river by the fractious stallion. Wylan had grabbed that branch but it had snapped, and he’d been caught in some sort of eddy that had held him under till he lost consciousness. Talea had played hero instead of smart and left the safety of the log to help him. Now they had both been under for several seconds without signs of coming up. And, run as he might, shout as they all might, there wasn’t anything he could do.
Now, as he stared at the unfolding scene, the situation had taken on a new twist. Whether a good or bad one, he wasn’t sure yet. Four men, riding celiths, had shown up on the opposite bank. They’d galloped downriver, a few stone’s throws down from Talea and Wylan. All of them had ridden their celiths into the middle of the stream, where they waited to catch the two drowning teenagers.
He started running again just as his mother, Brenly, and Kae caught up. Ki had kept pace with him the entire time, stopped when he stopped, and now as they started again, yelled the one thing that could have made the situation even more unnerving: “Yes! ‘Bout time!”
Naylen arrived breathless, confused, and both angry and relieved at where the strangers had gotten Talea and Wylan on shore. One of the hooded, armed men was crouched over Talea, fingers to her neck for a pulse. “Get off her,” he shouldered the man away, taking his place and finding a weak pulse.
“No,” hands grabbed his shoulders and forcefully moved him away from her, “you get off her. I’m trying to make sure she’s alright.”
He scrambled to his feet, fists clenched, but didn’t dare interfere again. Because, though he hated to admit it, it did appear that the man—at least currently—had Talea’s best interest in mind. He gingerly felt around her neck, before turning her onto her side. “Grrake, get Wylan on his side, in case he coughs up water.”
“Right.” The man named Grrake, tending Wylan, did as told.
Recognition dawned. Grrake. That was one of the names, of the two assassins, the two that had freed him from the Kaydorians, but also killed Wylan’s family.
Before he could formulate a plan or even a response, Naylen was reminded of Ki’s presence when his voice broke the silence. “Hey man,” he said amiably, punching the arm of one of the other strangers. “They gonna be okey?” he asked, as Seles, Brenly, and Kae were just arriving.
The man gave Ki’s shoulders a shove. “Sure they will. You think we’ve come all this way just to have ‘em drown, you nut?” he whacked Ki over the head playfully.
“Yhkon,” the urgency in Grrake’s voice ended their mirth. “I can’t find a pulse.”
“Move over,” Yhkon left Talea to kneel beside Wylan. He placed his hands, one atop the other, on the teenager’s chest and pushed, pressing down in a steady rhythm. Everyone stayed silent. Until suddenly Wylan gasped, sputtering out water as he did and craning forward to cough. Yhkon helped prop him into a sitting position, while discreetly making a hand motion to his companions.
Naylen had a brief moment to realize things were about to get even more interesting, before they did.
Wylan had just stopped coughing when Grrake and Yhkon each grabbed one of his arms and pinned it to the ground with their knees, freeing their hands to pin down his chest as he started to yell something inarticulate. Naylen leaped forward to stop them, only to have someone kick his legs out as he was jumping, bringing him to a face-plant on the ground. The man had him pinned in a heartbeat. All he could do was watch Wylan’s struggle—it didn’t last long, despite the outnumbered, outsized kid’s effort. While Yhkon and Grrake held him down, the fourth man forced him to drink something from a canteen. He writhed, silently, for a few more seconds. Then his movements became lethargic, his face slackened, and he was out.
“What…” Seles’s voice was unsteady. “Please. We’re innocent. We don’t want—”
“Mrs. Andul,” Grrake got up, approaching her with palms out soothingly. Naylen put a little more vigor into his futile struggle against his captor, but to no avail. “Talea is going to be fine. We’re not going to hurt any of you. We’re here to help.”
Her expression must have convinced him she didn’t believe him. He continued. “My name is Grrake Sjanteven, I’m a warrior from Calcaria.”
Seles’ teary eyes widened. “Calcaria?”
“Yes,” Yhkon spoke up, standing to address her. “Tarol, let Naylen up. You four go get camp ready,” he said to Tarol, the twins, and the other man. Yhkon continued as they left to do as bidden. “We’re all from Calcaria. I’m Yhkon Tavker, I lead our group, Grrake is my second. It’s our job to protect you.”
Naylen swallowed hard, and glowered, face hot. “Ema’s wrath, you think I’m just going to believe whatever comes out of your mouth? Where in Kameon is Calcaria?”
“Naylen,” Seles spoke quietly. “Maybe we should trust them.”
He wrinkled his nose at her. “Oh, because they’re murderers, they’ve been stalking us for who knows how long, and they just drugged Wylan?”
“No,” she tilted her head imploringly at him, face taut. “Because they’re San Quawr.”
~♦~
They’re San Quawr.
Seles’ words echoed in Talea’s groggily waking mind. There was water clogging her throat. Her body instinctively convulsed, coughing it out of lungs that ached. Her mother’s words were mixing together and echoing in her head.
She spat out more water and propped herself up on one elbow, grimacing. “What’s…” her throat hurt. “Going on? Why are…”
The one she’d distinguished as being Yhkon was at her side in an instant, putting his hands on her shoulders to prevent her from sitting up. “Take it slow.”
She recoiled. “Why are you here? What…” she didn’t have time for anything more, as Yhkon was displaced by Seles rushing forward to hug her, exclaiming anxiously and asking if she was alright. Brenly and Naylen were at her side too. “Y-yeah, I’m-m okay,” the chattering of her teeth made it sound like a lie.
Yhkon kept back but interrupted Seles’ fussing. “We need to get you warm and dry. There’s a tent set up; Mrs. Andul and Brenly, if you would help her to it and into dry clothes?” Though worded as a suggestion or request, Talea got the impression it would be enforced if not willingly obeyed.
But it was. Naylen practically lifted her to her feet, Brenly giving her a shoulder for support.
Yhkon looked her over as she steadied herself. “Alright. That was quite a beating you took in the river, so pain and tiredness is normal. Is there anywhere that especially hurts?”
My stalker is now my caregiver? She looked sideways, at Wylan’s unmoving form. “Not really. Is he okay?”
“Will be. We had to drug him. Go ahead, then.” She noticed that his dialect was accented. Not much, just a more refined sound to it than that of the average Zentyren.
Had to drug him. Drug him. Confused, she wordlessly walked away with Seles and Brenly. Her legs were stiff and wobbly at the same time, making her feel uncoordinated. Heaviness made her entire body drag, as if not only her clothes but her very skin was waterlogged. And the longer she was awake, the colder she became. By the time they were in the makeshift tent she couldn’t stop shivering. It made it difficult to focus on anything. She kept telling herself she should be wary, should be thinking through the circumstances, considering these new factors. With a stifling fog obstructing her mind, however, there wasn’t much she could do beyond fumbling into dry clothes and staggering out to the fire that had been started.
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Yhkon and Grrake were waiting for them there, with Wylan—dry now and draped with a blanket—still unconscious, laid near the fire. She fell clumsily into a sitting position next to him, cringing at his state. The first twinge of fear broke through the haze of exhaustion, as she looked back at the two men across from her; their hooded, masked faces, sparse armor, weaponry. It was impossible to tell which was which. In fact, maybe it wasn’t Yhkon and Grrake at all, but their two companions.
One of them got up, walked to one of the celiths that was being tended by another of the men, and came back with a folded blanket, walking behind her and draping it around her shoulders, pulling her wet braid out from under it lest it dampen her collar. She flinched at his touch, but he had returned to his spot a few yards away before she could work through a proper reaction. Seles, Brenly, and Naylen remained standing, hovering around and behind her. The twins and other two men finished their tasks and joined them at the fire.
Brow knit, Talea picked the one that had gotten the blankets and addressed him. “Who are you? What do you want?”
He reached up and removed the hood and mask, exposing his face. Despite the glow of the fire, she could tell his skin had an unusually golden hue to it. Sanonyan. Right, someone had said that Yhkon and Grrake were Sanonyan names. It explained his slight accent as well. He had chiseled, narrow features, over all attractive. Wavy, dark blonde hair that went just past his jawline. He looked younger than she’d expected, late twenties to early thirties, perhaps. “I’m Yhkon. This is Grrake,” he indicated the man next to him, who had just removed his hood and mask. He was older, with the same Sanonyan skin. The other two men had put down the concealing garments as well. “And that is Haeric,” he pointed to the shorter man, who bowed.
“And I’m Tarol, at your service,” said the fourth, who appeared to be the youngest, with red hair and a cheerful expression.
“We’re called Wardens,” Yhkon continued. “And we call you wards.”
