The Lake's Heir (Part One)

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.