Haha! Finally! A fantasy story that will make at least (partial) sense! Please let me know if you would like me to continue writing this story (if it is any good, et cetera). Footnotes at bottom.
It was dawn. The
midwife pushed back a strand of hair from her face, and watched the sun rise
gently over the lake. She could see where its name came from; it was painted a
pale, dusty gold by the gentle rays. Through the window it was dazzling, but
inside the small thatch cottage it only illuminated the pain upon the face of
the woman in her bed.
"Is… is it a
good day?" she croaked. Her hands were carelessly strewn on either side of her. A faraway expression
filled her eyes. "Is it a good day for him?"
"Aye,"
said the midwife. "Aye, 'tis a good day. He will grow strong. That is what
they say of the young who're born at daybreak." She paused. "Where is
the lad?"
The woman lifted her
hand, sent it in twirls in the air. "With his father. His father took him.
A few minutes ago. When you were -" the woman fell into a fit of coughs,
then recovered, "- were cleaning."
"His
father?" The midwife was puzzled. No one had come or left the room, and
the cottage was unvisited for the last day and night she had stayed there. The
midwife had come because a villager in a nearby town had told her of a very
pregnant woman in a house near Golden Lake. When she arrived the woman had been
very peacefully sitting in a chair behind the house, overlooking the lake.
There had been no activity except for the birth of a healthy, round-faced baby,
a boy for sure, with bright eyes framed in blond lashes that matched his hair.
"His father did not come."
"He did. He
certainly did. I heard him come, I saw him. Dressed in his fine Spirit's robe
he was. Took him away to his house. 'I'll come back,' said he. Then he left and
you came back inside." The woman coughed again, but this one was more resigned,
weakened. "He named the child
Arnoch. The Returner."
The midwife paled.
"A nymph-man came? One of them who's always in the stories? A
warlock?" She paused. "He gave your son a nymph name?"
The woman merely
looked happy. Her face no longer was pain-laden. It had the image of peace on
it. "He lives in it. He'll take care of our boy. He will."
"It?"
questioned the midwife. "What is it?" She paused for a moment.
"Who are you?"
The woman didn't
answer. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, as though searching for something in
the heavens.
The midwife sighed.
She had seen too many deaths in her time. Not just of mothers or their
children, but through sickness. Her father was an apothecary. She should know.
The midwife spent the next day tidying up the house. All the while she kept her
eyes open for the baby, for after all, she reasoned, he was too young to walk
or crawl, and the woman was certainly delirious. No nymph-man had come. By the
time the midwife left the house to go to the village nearby and find a suitable
gravesite for the woman she had convinced herself that there was no visitor.
But that left an uneasy question: what had happened to the child?
She hummed along the
road that she walked, pondering the incident. When she reached the village she
asked everyone there who the woman was. By midday she had gathered that she was
called Olyhin1. She had lived in that house from childhood and was always a
bright, happy sort of person. Lately, people said, she had begun to have gotten
queer. She would disappear for years on end, but never use the main roads, and
when she returned would have not aged a day. Her head was always in the clouds,
and her face dreamier. The midwife told no one about the disappearing baby, and
when people asked about the childbirth she simply replied that it went well. No
more details were provided.
The midwife returned
to her own house that day, on the outskirts of the far side of the town, away
from the lake. It was a sad place, she realized, because there was no child.
Her own husband had died years ago, and she had never been able to bear children
herself.
That night when the
midwife went to sleep she dreamt of a forest. Scrambling through it child of
four or five years. He was with a tall, dark-haired man in a simple velvet
tunic and black boots. He held the boy's hand and they seemed to be running
somewhere, the father's long, brisk strides being met with equal speed from the
small scurrying of his companion. The child was tired, and eventually the man
had to scoop him up and carry him. The forest was made up of dark trees that
wove into such thick a canopy that the midwife couldn't tell whether it was day
or nighttime.
"Where are we
going, papa?" asked the child.
"To a safe
place." The reply came smoothly; no gasps for air punctured the sentence.
"It is not safe
at home?"
"No."
"Why?"
The man's face fell
slightly. He did not want to speak of such a delicate matter with the boy.
"I…" He trailed off. "There are dangerous people coming. Very
dangerous."
"But where are
we going?"
A gloomy expression
flew across the face of the father. "It is near where your mother
lived."
The child's eyebrows
furrowed. "I don't have a mother."
"You do."
"Where has she
been all of these years?"
"She's
dead," said the father, rather curtly.
"Oh."
They finally came to
the edge of the forest. It seemed to be some sort of port, deserted from any
living activity, and a small canoe bobbed in the water. The water was clear and
blue, like tinted glass. It seemed to be just before dawn, for the sky was a
pale blue but no sun had peeked over the horizon yet. There was no end to the
water; it kept on going on forever without end. Small waves wove through it,
and the father picked up the boy and put him into the canoe. His anxious
expression cut wrinkles of concern into his face. He began untying the rope
that held the canoe to the dock.
The child looked up
at his father, concerned. "Aren't you coming, papa?"
"I…" he
stared into the eyed of his son. The midwife saw love in them, a deep, undying
love that was streaked both with pain and joy. "I cannot go."
"Why?"
"It is less
safe there than it is here. For me, anyway. Nireä will lead you. She knows the
way." The final knot had been undone. The father looped it around his arm,
quickly. He did not stop talking. "When you get there Nireä will take you
to a small house. I have sent a messenger to the person who lives there. She
knows that you are coming. To her world, anyway. When you reach there, ask her
what the name of your nurse is. If she answers correctly, give her the letter
in your pack, the one with green wax. Giver her the one with the red wax, too,
but giver her the green one first. She will know who you are. Tell her your
name. Stay there until…until it is more safe."
"What
pack?" the boy asked.
"There is one
in your canoe."
"Where are you
going, papa?"
The father opened
his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a great screech that pierced the
air. It came from the woods.
"Quick!"
he cried, and shoved the boat away from the shore. "Nireä! Take him
there!"
A ripple formed in
the water, and a scaly hand appeared out of the water, beginning to pull the
rope attached to the prow of the boat in the direction of the gradually rising
sun. The hand dragged it slowly, but with increasing speed.
"Papa!"
the boy screamed. "Papa, when will I see you again?"
His father shouted a
reply, but it was lost when a dark shadow reached from the forest and pulled
him back.
"No!" the
boy cried, and started hitting the boat. "Papa! Turn back, Nireä, turn
back! Papa!"
"I
cannot," Nireä replied. Her voice was sweet and low, with an echo effect
as though multiple people were speaking at once. "The orders from him were
clear: get to the other place at any cost. This, I'm afraid, is a great
cost."
"You don't care
about him!" the child yelled. "You don't care a bit about my
father."
"I care enough
to carry out his orders."
The boy sat down in
the boat, cross-legged and stiff. "You are by far the worst nurse ever to
walk - or swim, mind you - upon the earth."
"If that means
keeping you safe, so be it."
The child did not
reply.
An hour passed. The
his eyes were red from crying, and he grew hungry. The land was not visible
anymore, and Nireä kept pulling the boat straight ahead, always in one solid
direction. He dug through his pack and found the letters in envelopes, one
sealed with green wax and the other with red. They were stamped with the seal
of the Lake-people. There were also a few oatmeal cakes, still slightly warm,
and a bottle of milk. Nestled beside it was a small book and a change of
clothes. In an outside pocket was a small pocket knife, a box of sulfur-matches
with a few candles and a compass, with the "R" for rith2 painted on
with gold leaf. He nibbled at a cake. It was crisp on the outside, but soft and
moist and heavy past the crust. He wrapped it up and put it back in the pack.
It tasted of home, and that made him loose his appetite.
It was noon. The boy
was napping in the boat, waves licking the sides. Nireä pulled on, and the endless sea provided no
land, not even a stone. Suddenly, Nireä yanked the boat in a sharp downward
direction. It sank beneath the waves, boy and all, swallowed by the water.
The boy woke. The
atmosphere changed suddenly, much cooler and peaceful than the harsh, merciless
rays of the ever-beating sun. He sat up and looked around. There was a rich
turquoise shade in the background, beyond the place that he could see. There
was no life, no fish or small shrimp, just the water and the sun's light
dancing through it in silver webs.
"How can I
breathe?" he asked aloud, but then soon found the answer. Around the boat
there was stretched a bubble of air. The boy put his hands together. They were
dry, and so was his pack.
"Your father
has paid for a safe passage to the Lake. A great deal of gold; the Lake is
grudging to allow survivors pass through its clutches," Nireä said,
answering the boy's unasked question of how the bubble came. "Do not put
your hands outside the boat. It will create holes in the shield and it will
dissolve. Do not light any candles, either."
"Why?" It
was his favorite question.
"The fire eats
the air, and belches smoke. You cannot breathe smoke."
"Why?"
"Because. You
are a Human."
"Why should
that matter?"
"How should I
know?" Nireä snapped, rather exasperated. Instantly she regretted it. The
child was annoying sometimes, but he was lovable.
The boy and Nireä
traveled downward in silence, always down, until the sunlight faded from the
area above. The water became black as pitch, the air heavy. If the child knew
about water pressure, then he would ask about it, but Nireä was quite glad that
he didn't know enough to do that. The Lake, though did not like people living
through the experience of moving through it, did its job thoroughly. Nothing
would harm the child. Nireä's fingers tightened around the rope. The child
would not be hurt. That was not what mattered. She had volunteered to come
protect him. It was not the Master's decision. He had not wanted her to go. But
she had to let the boy be safe. He had to make it safely to the Other place.
Then the mission would be accomplished. Then it would be done. Nothing could
hurt him there. Nothing except for…
Nireä shook her
head, pushed those thoughts from her mind. They would distract her from her
duty. She felt the pearls around her neck. They glowed slightly blue, just
enough to let her see her hand in front of her face, a ghostly pale shadow of
long, wiry fingers with thin strands of
skin webbed between them. Good hands, she thought. The pearls grew brighter as
they made their way closer to the portal. It would be about three hours after
noon on the surface. There was no life in the sea, only water. The Lake did not
like living things. It had long ago done away with the plants growing in it,
then watched the other, greater creatures slowly die. The bodies did not rot.
Instead they were swallowed by the Lake, not to eat, but for whatever dark mage
that inhabited it to… use. Stories, legends, that was all. It was said that a
wicked magician had built a palace of bone in the heart of the Lake, and was
served by animated bodies of what once were sharks and fish and other creatures
that once lurked in the depths of the water. But, Nireä reminded herself, the
palace, no matter how real it was, could not be in the center. The pass was
there, and she and the child were drawing near. The pearls' light was becoming
stronger. Nireä peeked back into the boat. It appeared that the child had
fallen asleep.
A speck of light
appeared in the darkness. Nireä let out a sigh of relief. She had been waiting
for that light for hours. A few minutes later he speck seemed to be the same
size, but the pearls were becoming like small candles upon her neck. Nireä
looked back at the boy. He was sleeping and breathing peacefully. She had seen
him like this, but instead of in a bundle of silk sheets on a feather mattress,
it was a small, cold child, laying wrapped in a thin jacket. He looked plain
and sad, thought Nireä, not like a prince should. She turned back to towing the
boat. After about an hour (Nireä had begun to loose track of time) the light
was as big around as her head. It was pulsing and a pale blue-grey-white hue
that was indescribably bright. It matched the pearls on her necklace, which
were now miniatures of the light up front. Nireä swam back to the boat and
looked at the child. He was still asleep.
"Orendoth,
child," she murmured. "Orendoth, wake." When he didn't hear, she
said it louder: "Wake up, child."
The boy yawned.
"What is it, Nireä? Who are you talking to?" He sat up and drowsily
rubbed his eyes.
"You,
child," Nireä choked. The name stuck in her throat. Orendoth was not his
true name, but if the new caretaker knew… She would not take him in. There was
too much sadness in that name.
"But I am not
called that. I am called something different," the child protested.
"You will be
called Orendoth now. It is a good name. Your caretaker will tell you what it
means."
He was not satisfied
with that answer, and Nireä knew it. He frowned and said, "Why did you
wake me?"
"We are nearing
the bridge," replied Nireä.
"A
bridge?" The child was puzzled. How could there be a bridge underwater?
Where would it go to?
"The bridge to
your new home. To a safe home."
The child did not
reply. The light up ahead grew quickly, and was soon twice its past size.
Suddenly the boy said:
"I want to see
my papa again."
"Child,"
said Nireä as gently as she could, "it is not the time to be concerned
about wants. We are passing through dangerous waters."
"But my
papa…"
"Your papa is
fine right now." Now Nireä was nearly to tears. She hated lying, even to
the child, but she said that not just to him but to herself. It was a
reassurance.
The boy pursed his
lips. "He is not."
Clever child, thought Nireä. "You must
trust him to protect himself."
He again did not
reply. Soon a small hum began to vibrate the water. The bubble rippled softly
as the ripples reached it.
"What is
that?" the boy asked.
"The
gatekeepers," said Nireä. "They are singing."
"Do you know
them?"
Nireä nodded
gravely. "They are my cousins. Our mothers are sisters."
"Will they let
us through?"
Nireä took a deep
breath. "They should."
As they drew closer
the humming grew louder. The tune was indescribable, sometimes high and sweet,
sometimes low and sad. The song sometimes broke into harmonies and canons, but
mostly it was one united, throbbing melody that cleared the water from a blinding
darkness to a blinding light.
Five small figures
were dancing around the light, passing in front and behind it in some kind of
synchronized formation. Their hair billowed about their shoulders. At their
ribs the vaguely humanoid body stopped and morphed into a tail. The meeting
place was seamless, but that may have been because they had no skin. Instead
the figures varied from deep blue to pale green. Coral wreathed their foreheads
and gauzy clothes adorned their arms and torsos. Their fingers were webbed like
Nireä's, but they had sharper nails, a few centimeters long.
Finally the boat was
near enough the light so that it was now a huge sphere twice the height of the
boat's length. Nireä called out to the figures:
"Arandè!
Arandavyn! Arandret! Arandoël! Arandalea! My cousins!"
The singing stopped,
and the water became eerily silent. The only thing that moved was the buzz of
the light. Now that they were closer it was clear that their skin was of small
scales, linked like chain mail and progressing larger until they were the size
of one's fingertips. Five sets of eyes were fixed on the boat and Nireä. The
one closest to them had pale turquoise scales and a solemn face. When she
opened her mouth her tongue was blue.
Nireä, she whispered. The words were thick and
heavy. They rolled off her lips and filled the air with the sound of vague
hissing. You have been exiled. You are no
longer welcome past the Gate. We must not let you through.
Arandè, replied Nireä, I come not on my own accord. I have been granted a safe passage through
the sea, and the boy and I shall go where we have been ordered.
Arandè stared at the
child in the boat. Her forest green eyes bored into his mind, and it seemed as
though she had seen every moment of his life, from his dreams to that time that
he stole an oatmeal cake from the kitchen. He shook his head and ducked, so
that the eyes wouldn't find him.
So this is the child, Arandè hissed. He cannot cross the bridge. He cannot go to the other
world. The Gate is closed to him, and to you, Nireä. Turn back, and perhaps He
will spare you. Turn back now.
Who
is He? Has He any authority? We shall not turn back. We shall pass.
The royal blue
creature swam forward. Is this the traitor?
she said. The one who condemned us?
Your punishment was well-earned, growled
Nireä. Let us pass, and we shall go in peace.
You cannot go. It is forbidden, said the royal
blue one.
By whom, Arandoël? You have not the power to obstruct
me. Nireä's fingers tightened around the rope. The child poked his hand
over the rim of the boat. Why couldn't they just go? What was holding them up?
And what had his nurse done to make these things hate her so? We will pass. Nireä began to tow the boat
forward.
The remaining three
- what were they called? - gatekeepers put their hands at their waists. The
child saw sword handles on their hips, long, thin scabbards hanging off of a
strap slung from the opposite shoulder. You
shall not, they said in unison.
We shall! shouted Nireä, and rushed forward,
her own sword drawn. Things moved so fast that the child did not have the time
to think that he had never seen Nireä with a weapon of any sort before. The
others hissed loudly and backed away from the blade.
Onbrunot! one cried. Darkslayer!
You need not fear it if you stood for light,
Nireä shot back. I'm afraid that you haven't,
not for years and years.
Nireä! Arandè's eyes flashed with fury. You shall pay for your treason! Her hands
became engulfed in spheres of flame. They burned a bright blue with a black
center, red licking the edges.
Nireä's face paled
quickly, and her pace slowed. The Dark fire.
You wield it!
Arandè sneered. So what, cousin? Who told me that I couldn't? Your
dear master can't do anything now. He is
going to consume the land. It will all become a part of his domain!
Arandè, Nireä warned, you have turned, but do not think that you can't turn back. It will be
your downfall.
Nireä! her cousin laughed. You speak so lowly of us. But you are not so
different. Not so - what is the word? - unlike. We do as we please! The
hands of her sisters erupted in fire as well.
Nireä yelled an
incomprehensible phrase and charged to the light up ahead.
A horrible screech
echoed through the water. The child couldn't tell who it was, whether it was a
gatekeeper, or Nireä, or even himself. All he could feel was an icy bucket of
water being dumped on him. He screwed his eyes shut, and gritted his teeth, but
he could still feel the searing pain of light shoving its way into his brain
and overwhelming it with a shock of brightness. He tried to take a breath, but
all that entered his mouth was water. He coughed it up, only to have more come
in.
"Nireä!"
he gargled. "Nireä, where are-"
His head broke
through the surface of the water. Nearby the boat he had ridden in was bobbing
upside-down. Nireä was nowhere to be seen.
"Fool of a
boy!" A pair of strong hands gripped his elbows and pulled him out of the
water. He was dragged a little bit along the ground, his vision a bit foggy.
"Who are…"
he murmured.
But when he tried to
look at the face, he could only see a blur of skin and hair. He couldn't even
see if it was that of a man or a woman. Then they faded to black and he passed
out.
¹This is a feminine
name meaning (essentially) "grace".² Rith is kinda like North. It's
complicated, suffice to say that it is "up" on most maps.
Also, there may be a third footnote. If anything doesn't make any sense, then please tell me. It'll explain it. Unless it's a spoiler.
