Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“The guards should still be occupied trying to capture what I left them. But to be safe, when we lift the boat to the river, stay close to the wall. We will follow the tide. When we are hidden from view of the city’s towers, then we will cross.”

“What about Charra?” Ancel asked.

“He will swim.”

Charra was a strong swimmer, but he hated water. Convincing the daggerpaw could become an issue, but Ancel could see no other solution.

“There’s one small problem,” Mirza said as they bent to pick up the boat. “How do we get across against the current?”

The Kelvore River, usually three quarters of a mile across, had swollen to almost twice that size. Muddy brown water swirled around hidden rocks before rushing off farther south. The roar of the rushing river was only drowned out when thunder pealed. With the current’s ferocity, crossing would be near impossible.

“Let me worry about that,” Kachien said reassuringly. “There are three paddles in the reeds. You will help keep us straight, but I will do most of the work.”

None of them bothered to ask how. They already knew. Instead, they concentrated on their footing across the muddied ground.

“What about the cost?” Ancel said from his position at the hull.

Danvir had the middle, supporting the majority of the weight on his beefy shoulders.

“You have nothing to worry about there. I can maintain until an opportunity comes.” The brief closing of her eyes and her reluctant tone said Kachien didn’t relish the thought.

“What cost? What’re you two talking about?” Mirza said, his voice strained and taut.

“You can tell them.” Resignation inched into Kachien’s tone. “They deserve to know.”

As they set down the boat where they’d sat moments before, Ancel told them about what Kachien’s people, the Alzari, believed, and how they handled those who could touch Mater but lacked control. His two friends gave her wary looks and tried not to be obvious about the space they kept between her and them.

“Are you safe to be around?” Mirza finally managed.

“Safe enough. I decide who needs to die to appease the essences. Here in Granadia, there are more than enough enemies. I will not be driven to madness and harm you.”

Mirza and Danvir’s worried expressions smoothed. Danvir went off to get the three wooden paddles as Ancel, Mirza and Kachien eased the rowboat into the river. Kachien held a tether in one hand.

“Ancel,” Danvir began when he returned, and they climbed in one by one. “I know he’s strong, but can Charra swim against this current?”

“Make sure he stays close,” Kachien said before Ancel offered a reply. “If he does, he should be fine.”

They all looked at each other but said nothing. Kachien leaped into the boat last. From the riverbank, Charra growled.

“Follow,” Ancel commanded.

Charra whined and leaped after them as they pushed off from the shore. He landed with a splash and paddled beside the craft.

They kept as close to the bulwark as they dared. Danvir sat in the middle as the counterweight to Ancel and Mirza at the ends. Kachien took up a position near Mirza, her eyes focused ahead. The first few hundred feet went smoothly. When they reached the sewer exit, they worked hard to stay as close to the city’s walls as they dared. The sewage roared out as they passed, and the swirling currents from its collision with the river careened the boat, sending the bow high in the air before the vessel crashed back down, and the stern lifted from the water.

Ancel frantically switched his paddle from side to side in order to help prevent the craft from capsizing. He considered shouting to help them work in concert, but not only would that prove fruitless with the water roaring around them, there was the risk of alerting a guard. He struggled on, the pain in his arms and legs a dull throb. When at last they passed the danger, he blew out a deep breath. Allowing his shoulders to sag never felt so good.

His relaxation was short lived as the speed at which they traveled increased. They were pitched to and from the stone edifice without mercy. Keeping the boat on course became more difficult than he could have imagined, and he resorted to shorter strokes as the waters conspired to slam them into the stone. Luckily, the city’s bulwarks shielded them from the wind that howled as if possessed by some wraithlike creature, venting its rage at the fact they didn’t have to deal with its swirling eddies and the treacherous waters at the same time.

Occasional spray and the rain tempted Ancel to wipe his eyes. He resisted. Instead, he focused on the task at hand and his friends in front. The muscles on Danvir’s back and arms threatened to burst through his dirty silk shirt. Ancel’s shoulders, back, and legs burned even more than before. Mirza’s red head bobbed this way and that as he worked. Kachien simply watched.

Foot by foot, their speed grew until they hurtled by stone and debris alike. Charra somehow managed to keep up with them. At any moment, Ancel expected the river’s fury to smash and break them against the wall. But as if by Ilumni’s good grace, they avoided their demise, often only by inches. Ancel managed a glimpse of Kachien. Her forehead was furrowed in concentration and her eyes narrowed. He was certain whatever she did had to do with Materforging.

His arms feeling as if they would fall off at any moment, Ancel battled on. Legs wooden, breathing ragged, back aching, and hands raw from the constant fight with the paddle, he lost track of time. The only things that existed was their craft tipping toward the wall, his strokes to push it away, then his work on the opposite side so they wouldn’t be swept out into the middle of the river.

Without warning, they passed the bulwark. Moments later, the river flung them around a sharp bend. Icy wind whipped into them like frozen daggers. The front of the boat turned and it keeled to one side. At the dizzying speed they traveled, the craft twisted the opposite direction, toward the foaming violence at the river’s center, yawing listlessly. There was no way to stop the movement. They were going to flip over.

We’re going to die here.

Just as abruptly as the wind began, it stopped. The boat lurched upright.

“You no longer…need to…paddle,” Kachien said, an edge to her voice as if she’d fought a great battle.

Ancel hissed at the sight of her haggard, pale face. He wanted to reach out to her and stroke away the wild strands of hair from her cheeks, but his arms were too heavy to lift and his legs too numb to move.

Then, the impossible happened.

The craft veered out into the river. And was not swept away. It sped along as if the day was a calm, sunny one, and they were out on a leisurely boat ride. The oncoming water never struck them with more than a gentle lap. They cut across the river’s heart like a sharp blade through silk.

Ancel stared, his mouth open. Danvir plopped down into a sitting position. Mirza cackled, his head thrown to the sky.

And somehow, next to them swam Charra, his golden eyes focused on Kachien.

Ancel looked back behind them. A fog had risen along the riverbank they just left. The gray, cloying mist spread down the entire length of the city and up, obscuring the wall and its many towers. Faded orange light marked where torches dotted Randane’s fortifications. Ancel almost whooped.

A ragged gasp came from Kachien. Her face had grown even paler. Her chest heaved the same as when a farmer stuck a pig and allowed its blood to drain until the animal died. Spittle bubbling at her lips, sweat pouring down her face at such a rate not even the constant deluge of rain could hide it, she stared straight ahead, her body rigid. Her breaths came harder and faster.