Souls of Aredyrah 2 - The Search for the Unnamed One (13 page)

As Reiv neared the rocks, the water became
turbulent. He was hit suddenly in the chest, his breath knocked
fully out of him. He pushed upward toward the flickering light of
day, fighting both panic and the overwhelming urge to inhale into
his now empty lungs.

Cool air slapped his face as he broke through
the surface. He rasped for air, treading clumsily as he spewed salt
water from his nose and mouth. Darkness was beginning to cover the
surface of the water, and there was still no sign of Kerrik. Reiv’s
eyes darted to the shoreline. In the distance he could see Torin
and Jensa strolling along the sand. Reiv screamed, sputtering
unintelligible words, and waved an arm in distress. But he only
sank for his efforts and again found himself fighting for air. He
bobbed back up, coughing and gagging, and looked toward the shore.
They still did not see him, that was clear, but there was no time
for delay. Filling his lungs with one last gulp of air, he dove
beneath the surface and kicked his way back to the murky depths
below.

He saw it first out of the corner of his
eye—the great yellow-green tail whipping and slithering amongst the
tunneling rocks of the reef, a trail of dark blood streaming behind
it.

He followed, contorting his body with each
twisting turn, and struggled with all his might to catch up to the
serpent that writhed and dove throughout the rocky passageways. The
creature was massive, perhaps thirty feet long, its girth greater
than that of a man, its hide slick with the mucous of the deep.
Surely this was the monster the boy had told him about. Surely this
was Seirgotha, the she-devil of the sea.

Reiv pushed forward, willing his limbs to
work harder, every muscle taut with the effort of conserving his
breath. The serpent was just ahead, its whipping tail almost within
his grasp. He fumbled for the knife at his waist. It wasn’t much,
its small blade designed only to pry sea life from the security of
their shells. But it was all he had.

The tail brushed roughly against him, but
instead of knocking him aside, it sucked him into the vortex of its
current. Seeing his chance, Reiv plunged the knife blade down, and
then again, leaving two small but effective wounds in the hide of
the great tail. The creature whirled its huge, arrow-shaped head,
its eyes flashing. Reiv threw himself back against the biting
rocks, nearly dropping the knife from his trembling hand. His eyes
went wide at the dreadful sight before him. In the jaws of the
great beast was Kerrik, limp and pale, long thin trails of
life-blood spiraling from his body.

Reiv clenched the knife tightly, determined
not to lose his grip on it. Pushing his feet hard against the
rocks, he jettisoned toward the monstrous serpent. For a moment the
creature seemed confused, as though contemplating whether or not to
drop the small prey in its jaws in exchange for the larger one now
heading in its direction. But Reiv gave it no time to choose. In an
instant he reached the head and plunged the knife into one of its
eyes. He pushed and twisted the blade with all his strength.

The snake jerked and widened its jaws, then
shook its head in frenzied response. Kerrik fell from its bloody
maw and tumbled in slow motion through the swirling waters.

Reiv kicked forward and stabbed the wounded
orb again and again. He could not risk the serpent regaining its
hold. The beast writhed and coiled, lurching its head forward,
snapping at the red and brown water that churned around it.

Reiv dove down and grabbed Kerrik by a
drifting arm. He yanked the motionless body toward him and wrapped
his arm around the boy’s waist. He paddled furiously against the
water, forcing them upward toward the surface.
Please be alive,
please be alive
, he prayed. He dared not look down at the
creature—he didn’t even know if it was still there. All he knew was
that he had to get Kerrik out of the water. That he had to get him
breathing. That he had to stop the bleeding.

It seemed an eternity before they reached the
surface. Reiv swam urgently, but clumsily, for shore, paddling
through relentless waves with one arm, cradling Kerrik with the
other. He thought of all Kerrik had taught him during their
lessons. How the boy had patiently endured his awkward attempts at
buoyancy. How he had never given up on him, even when he wanted to
give up on himself.

“I will not let you die, Kerrik,” Reiv said
through gasping breaths. “I promise. Hold on. Just hold on. We are
almost there.”

Torin stopped in his tracks and pointed and
hollered in their direction. He sprinted across the sand, then
plunged into the water and swam with long clean strokes toward the
struggling swimmer and the child being pulled behind. He reached
them quickly and grabbed Kerrik from Reiv’s weakening grasp,
abandoning the exhausted prince to his own resources.

Reiv felt his feet touch bottom. He dug his
toes into the sand and pushed forward. His shaking legs fought to
stay upright against the waves that crashed against the back of
them.

He reached the shore and staggered across the
sand toward the crowd that had gathered. He shoved his way between
the horrified onlookers and fell to his knees. Kerrik was sprawled
before him, the golden sand beneath him now turned to red.

The ghostly white of Kerrik’s skin seemed in
stark contrast to the dark blue of his lips. Deep lacerations
encircled his waist, chest, and back, where jagged serpent teeth
had slashed tender flesh. One arm lay bent with a probable
fracture. Ribs pressed outward against pale, fragile skin. There
was no sign of life in the tiny body and very little sign of
hope.

Torin blinked back tears as he rolled Kerrik
over gently and worked to expel the water from the boy’s stomach
and lungs. It was clear the man hated touching the child for fear
he might cause further harm to the already brittle body.

The boy vomited bloody water onto the sand
and coughed weakly. Torin rolled him back over and placed his mouth
over his, forcing air into the struggling lungs. Kerrik’s chest
rose and fell in sporadic breaths.

Jensa tore strips of cloth from her skirt and
pressed them against the open wounds with shaking hands. Both hands
and cloth became soaked with blood. She continued to tear at her
skirt, replacing bloodied cloths with fresh ones.

Kerrik convulsed, twitching and kicking
uncontrollably.

Jensa burst into sobs. “He’s dying. He’s lost
too much blood!”

“No!” Reiv cried. He gathered the boy’s face
into his hands and leaned down to him. “Stay with us, Kerrik. Stay
with us. I promised I would not let you die, remember? And a prince
never breaks his promise.”

The twitching ceased, as though the boy felt
calmed by Reiv’s impassioned words. But then the breathing slowed,
and before long it stopped altogether.

Reiv grabbed Kerrik by the shoulders.
“Breathe, Kerrik! Breathe!”

“Reiv, it’s over. We’ve…lost him,” Torin’s
halting voice said.

“No! Kerrik—please, gods, no.” Reiv buried
his face in the boy’s sand-encrusted hair. “I should have found him
sooner…I should have found him sooner!”

The sobs that wracked Reiv’s body were
matched only by those of Jensa who knelt beside him, her
blood-covered hands pressed against her mouth.

Torin placed a trembling hand on Reiv’s
shoulder. “You did all you could.” His voice cracked, and he turned
his face away.

Reiv felt his own face go hard. “No, not
all,” he said. He pulled Kerrik into his arms. The boy’s head
lolled back.

Reiv gazed at the freckled face, once never
without a smile, and the eyes that used to twinkle with mischief,
now rolled to white. “You are not going to die. I will not let
you.”

“Reiv, please,” Jensa said.

Reiv looked at her, the sorrow in her eyes
insurmountable, then at the boy still cradled in his arms.
“Kerrik,” he said as though the boy was alert and listening, “I
know you are tired, but all you have to do is breathe. That is not
so hard, now is it? You can do this. You are a warrior, the bravest
one I have ever known. Remember the story you told me? The one
about Seirgotha? Well, she is here. I know you wanted to slay her,
but I will do it for you. Would that be all right? I will kill her
and then you will live.”

The boy did not move.

“Gods, Kerrik, breathe! Do this much and I
swear when you are better I will—I will train you with my sword.
Would you like that?”

The boy groaned and stirred ever so slightly.
Everyone gasped, including Reiv. Kerrik was breathing slow shallow
breaths, but breathing nonetheless.

Reiv gathered the boy up and half-walked
half-ran toward the hut. Jensa and Torin followed at his heels,
struggling to keep pace. Onlookers trailed behind, murmuring words
of wonder at the near miraculous event they had just witnessed.

“Send for Nannaven now!” Reiv barked over his
shoulder.

Jensa turned to a man walking behind her and
motioned for him to do as Reiv ordered. The man took off in a dead
run up the path toward Pobu, but it would be nearly two hours
before the messenger would reach the Jecta city, and even longer to
find the Spirit Keeper and bring her back. It was not likely the
boy would last that long. He was barely alive as it was.

When they reached the hut, Reiv laid Kerrik
upon his cot and brushed the hair back from his face. Then he
stepped aside to make room for Jensa to be at her brother’s side.
He moved to his own sleeping pallet nearby and drew from beneath it
the sword he had placed there the night before.

“Torin, I need you to bind this to my hand.”
Reiv said.

“Bind it?” Torin asked.

“Yes, bind it,” Reiv said impatiently. “I do
not think I will have the strength to hold it in the water, so I
need you to bind it.”

“Reiv, listen to me. Kerrik’s breathing.
That’s all that matters.”

“I will do this with or without your help.
Now either bind my hand to the sword or I will go without!”

Torin stared hard into Reiv’s determined
face. “Think what you are saying, Reiv. You cannot wield a sword
under water.”

“Well, I have no choice, now do I?”

Torin hesitated, then walked over to a carved
chest next to his cot and threw open the lid. From within it he
pulled out a bundle and unwrapped it. He held up a dirk, shiny
bright and new, beautifully crafted and decorated with a star at
the handle.

“Here,” he said, holding it out. “Take it,
it’s yours.”

Reiv gaped at the weapon. “Where did you get
this?” he asked.

“Dayn made it for you. It’s fashioned of star
metal, something very hard to find. He says it’s the best material
there is. Gair found the metal months ago and had been saving it at
the smithy. Dayn intended to give it to you himself when you went
to visit, but when you voiced your disapproval of his craft so
strongly…well, he sent it along with me in case you changed your
mind…or needed defending.”

Reiv set the sword down and took hold of the
dirk. “I think you will still need to bind it,” he said. “I do not
know if my hand will be strong enough to hold onto it.”

Torin frowned his disapproval. “Very well,”
he said between clenched teeth. “If you insist on doing this
thing.” He grabbed some strapping and wrapped it securely around
the scarred fingers. “You know this is madness, and it will not
help Kerrik. You risk your life for nothing.”

“Saving Kerrik’s life is not for nothing! I
promised him I would slay the creature and I will. It is his only
chance. He may be breathing, but for how long?”

“Seirgotha is legend only. The beast that
attacked Kerrik was a large sea snake, nothing more.”

“We shall see.” Reiv brushed past Torin and
headed down the path toward the beach, praying the creature was
already dead. But if it was not, he would see the job done. He
would slay the devil with a heart so cold it would attack a child,
and there was nothing that would stop him. Nothing.

BACK TO ToC

Chapter 14: Life or Death

W
ord spread quickly
throughout Meirla that the former Prince of Tearia was on the hunt
for Seirgotha. As the crowd gathered on the shoreline, onlookers
chatted up various versions of the story, craning their necks for
the slightest sign of the red-haired boy in the waters.
Anticipation rose as a festive-like atmosphere developed. Perhaps
today would be the day the ancient legend came to life. Perhaps
today a Transcendor would walk amongst them. Everyone knew the
story—it had been told for generations—but while some saw validity
in it, others scoffed, convinced that Reiv would either die in his
attempt or come out looking like a fool. Before long, bets were
placed, not only on Reiv’s chances of survival, but on Kerrik’s as
well.

The sun arched high overhead, leaving patches
of dark blue water shimmering white. People raised their hands to
shield their eyes against the glare and shouted and pointed
excitedly whenever a bit of dark hair was spotted bobbing in the
distance. But then the flash of auburn would disappear back under
the water, and murmurs of disappointment would replace the
exhilaration.

Most of the crowd waited patiently,
determined not to miss one moment of the spectacle. But others
surrendered to the cool shade of their huts. The hunt couldn’t last
much longer, they said. The prince would give up soon, or die
trying.

A wave of excitement rose. “There! Look
there…he comes! The boy comes!” a man shouted.

“Where? Does he have the beast?” others
asked.

All eyes shot in the direction of the fingers
pointing toward Reiv, who could be seen dragging himself from the
water, barely able to stand.

Reiv walked stiffly toward them, the dirk
clutched in one hand, a large shell in the other.