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~~*~~
3
Amazing Water
Amazing Water
~~*~~
HE
WAS puking before he got out the front door of the Imperial Ascendium. The
Sickness had him. The Tracluse he'd left alive heard him, came running toward
him. He just got out of the way of one and slipped unseen out the main gates,
stumbling and retching, hands over his mouth.
He marched down the stairs into his cabin, where he lit the wood stove. The floor was covered in puke and bile and blood. He threw some towels over it so he wouldn't have to look at it, stripped down completely, emptied his bladder in the toilet, dried off, then crawled into his bed, where he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
But
not before jamming the head of the Constable upon one of the pikes that leaned
against a dark corner at the entryway and leaving it there. That was as far as
that son of a bitch would ever get from his grand Imperial fort.
The
docks seemed as far away as the Great Piers. But he got to them somehow, a lot
of it on his hands and knees, the swinging beam of the lighthouse displaying
his halting, heaving progress. What seemed an eternity later he rolled over the
side of the Selaki, where he fell
hard to the deck on his back.
Medicine. He got to his knees, then feet, and stumbled
down into the cabin. Into the bathroom. The medicine was in a corked bottle in
a tied leather bag. He pulled the bag open, yanked the cork out, and took two
full gulps. It was a foul brew, full of slimy bits and with an odor that reeked
of dead things.
No
good. He puked it right back out onto the floor of the bathroom.
He
sucked air between clenched teeth. "Shit."
The
medicine was powerful. From prior experience he knew that enough had remained
in his stomach to provide relief, if minimally. Already he felt a tiny bit
better, perhaps enough to set sail, which he did. He brought the medicine up to
the deck with him. He knew he'd need it sooner than later.
Antarctic Cottonwood . That's
right. He pulled the leafy sprig out of his chest pocket along with the
tiny saltwater dripper, and opened the dash at the captain's wheel, retrieving
the freshwater spray bottle and a flask. He spritzed the twig and a second one
lying inside. He dipped the flask overboard, filling it with seawater. He
pushed the sprigs’ stems into the flask’s small opening, then put it and the
sprigs back in the dash and closed it. He noted that the sprigs had grown a
tiny bit just before another fit of nausea and vomiting overcame him and he
fell again to his hands and knees. He was dry heaving now and knew how
dangerous that could be. He gulped down more of the heinous concoction. It
didn't come straight back up this time.
At
the stern holds he snatched some jerked beef and chewed on it manically, forced
it down. The medicine was going to come back up soon, along with the poorly
masticated meat, but his recovery had already begun. It would advance, albeit
agonizingly slowly, if he just kept up his strength and resolve.
That's
what he told himself. But in this case he honestly didn't know. He'd killed
Tracluse in the past. But only one at a time, when one would get too close and
he'd have to act.
Tonight
he'd killed eleven. Eleven Tracluse including the Constable, the Dreamcatcher,
Nenei … and Jen, who wasn’t Tracluse. Six surviving guards were in their
bunker, off duty and asleep. He'd locked them in. By the time they broke out,
the slaughter was finished.
Nenei.
She tried to scream, but Anurag the great shark was on her before even a squeak
could leave her mouth.
Jen.
Anurag cut his throat. Somehow he'd intuited that he was in danger, and
scrambled out of bed for the door. Anurag tackled him before he got there and finished
him with one stroke. He was surprised by how little he'd felt killing him—a man
he'd known since childhood. Perhaps it was the fact that Jen was doomed no
matter what. He was a slave. Were Anurag to leave him alive, the surviving
Tracluse, regardless of the evidence, would execute him anyway for simply being
close to the scene of the crime. Such a punishment was common.
The
beef wasn't long coming back up. But at least it didn't as quickly as his first
gulps of medicine.
He
navigated the Selaki out into open
water and then along the coast. There was a cove thirty misons southwest. He
had visited it before. It was well hidden, virtually invisible from the sea. No
one would find him there.
The
fog was thick and restless. He kept a steady eye on the lighthouse's regular
beam to estimate his position in the all-consuming darkness. The beam dwindled
from view slowly, as though calling out to him, sad that he was once again
leaving. He leaned against the captain's wheel and closed his eyes. Nausea
washed over him in constant waves.
There
were rocks out here, sea stacks of dark melange that had claimed more than one
fishing vessel or courier like him. An approaching Imperial dreadnought nearly
sunk after hitting a barely submerged rock a few years ago. That was a
particularly bad time for Anthtree, he recalled after gagging again. Many
villagers died. The stranded Tracluse had no one else to blame the damage to
their hulking warship on.
But
if anyone was an expert on these waters, it was he. He knew them from above the
surface—and from below it. All he had to do was stay conscious enough, alert
enough, for a couple hours, a little more than that, perhaps, and he could drop
anchor in the hidden cove and focus on getting better.
He
almost missed it. He was coughing up bile and blood now, and barely able to
stand. He'd gone through the bottle of medicine; there was one more in the
forward hold. He was rummaging around in it looking for it when he heard what
he thought were the cove’s tell-tale sounds. He had nothing else to tell him;
the fog was thick as a wool blanket, the night soaking through it like oily
black tar. There was a wide sandy beach just prior to the cove’s narrow, rocky
inlet; the surf's steady roar changed abruptly there, softening and lengthening,
not unlike the tide near the lighthouse. He just caught the change and, bottle
of medicine in hand, stumbled and tripped his way back to the wheel, where he
adjusted course.
His
health was grave. He knew that. He honestly did not know if he was going to survive
the night.
If so, he thought angrily, then so be it. I did what I
had to do.
He
dropped anchor in the cove half an hour later. He fell to his side when
finished, and he puked bile and blood, and he sipped the heinous medicine. He
shook fitfully. The penetrating cold of the night was barely sufficient to cool
the shocky waves of roiling sweat that soaked through his clothing. He puked
and puked, and helplessly inched his way towards death.
~~*~~
He
woke to see a young woman staring down at him.
"Wh-What—?"
he croaked. "Who ... who are you? Where ... where am I?"
He
was flat on his back, and definitely not aboard his ship.
"You're
safe," she answered. "You're in our ueto. I was sent to look after you. I'm Dohbdy."
His
stomach churned and turned.
"Here.
Drink this," she offered, holding a cup. His misery must've been obvious.
With
her help he sat up, took the cup, and looked around. He was in a small, dark
enclosure, one whose walls were made of skins and furs. He had been lying on a
thick, dark erlt fur. The warmth of
his body held on to the fur and invited him to recline once more on it and
rest. He felt lightheaded and very weak, and there was an awful taste in his
mouth. He gazed at her, the cup shaking in his grip.
"Go
on," she urged. "Drink. Please."
He
brought it to his lips and took a tentative sip. It tasted like the purest,
cleanest water, sweet and so refreshing that he downed the rest of it in just a
couple of gulps. He held it out. "More?"
"It
will have to wait," she said. "Too much too soon and it will
strengthen, not weaken, the perversions in your spirit."
She
looked at him worriedly.
"My
ship ..." he began.
"It's
safe where you anchored it," she said. "We heard you the night you
arrived. We could hear you retching. We didn't know what it was at first. At
first light we came out to look. We saw you there, in your craft. You were very
ill, close to death. We brought you here. We didn't know if you would live.
It's been two days and a night now. It is good that the perversions are finally
losing their hold on you."
Her
worried expression finally caught his attention.
"I'm
not one of them," he said, guessing.
"When
you opened your eyes a moment ago, I knew it too," she said, smiling
unsurely.
Silence
descended on them. She studied his face closely, as if seeking answers.
"You're
wondering how the perversions came to be inside me, and how I've managed not to
become one of them."
She
nodded, but delicately, as though afraid of insulting him.
"You're
from Anthtree," she said.
He
nodded.
"I
remember you. You visited the Mother, long ago."
"Mother?"
"The
Sky Fir ... the fallen Anthtree. You were there. I remember."
He
stared into the bottom of the cup. Thirst for more of whatever she gave him cut
into his gut like a knife. He shook his head. "I don't remember you. I'm
sorry."
"You
were just a young man, and I was a little girl. You spoke to my father."
"I
don't really remember much about that trip aside from the tree. I'm
sorry."
"We
come to this cove every year—the tribe, that is. We did not know that the
villagers knew of it."
"They
don't," said Anurag. "I mean, I'm sure the old-timers do—the ones
still living. And so does my nephew. I'm sure I told him about it." He
gave her a dark stare. "The perversions don't allow casual or exploratory
travel."
"I
don't believe they know of this place either."
"But
they do know about you. About your people," he said. Nausea washed over
him like a rising tide of sewage, and he fought it. He took regular breaths and
focused on her.
"We
know. Try to keep the water down as long as you can."
He
nodded jerkily. He felt very close to vomiting again, and looked for something
to vomit in so that he wouldn't stain the furs.
"The
demons discovered us three years ago. They were killing us for food. We
retreated higher into the mountains to avoid them. And then one day we found
the carcass of one."
The
news that the Poets had discovered a dead Mephastophian was enough to distract
him, if but a tiny bit.
"A
dead demon ... you found one?"
She
nodded thoughtfully. "It had been killed. Something killed it in open
battle."
The
puke wasn't going to wait any longer. He lurched forward and gagged.
She
was ready. She produced a bucket and got it under his chin just in time.
Anurag's stomach muscles were in agony from his earlier retching, and he
groaned against the pain. She kindly wiped his mouth with a cloth when he
finished. His retching or the sour smell of vomit did not seem to bother her.
She took the cup and filled it with more of the amazing water and handed it to
him. He drank greedily.
"Perhaps
in a day or so you can eat," she said. "You are a very strong man
..."
"Anurag.
My name is Anurag," he grunted. The water cooled his gullet and seemed to
radiate comfort to his fingertips and toes. It bit into his stomach, though,
not like acid, but like a deadly thirst would.
"Keep
the water down as long as you can, Anurag," she instructed. "The
longer you can keep it down, the quicker you'll get better."
"Something
... can kill a demon?" he asked.
"That must concern you folks a great deal."
"It
does. Our Elders even considered moving away from this place and staying north
for good. But then a year later we found another demon carcass."
"Killed
the same way, I take it?"
She
nodded. "Whatever is doing it is very powerful. We believe, in fact, that
there may be two of them."
"Two?"
No
wonder the Constable was so frantic!
"We
believe so, yes."
"Poets
are expert trackers," he said as another wave of nausea washed through
him. "At least that's the rumor about you people. You haven't been able to
track whatever it is—I mean, they—are?"
She
saw that he was close to losing it again, and reached out and squeezed his
shoulder. "Hold it. Try to hold it in a little longer."
He
took big, deep, quaking breaths and tried steadying himself.
"Tracking," he gulped heavily. "Have you ... found
anything?"
She
nodded again. "We believe it may be other demons."
He
gawked at her. "Wha—?"
And
then he puked again. He noted that what came up wasn't clear liquid, but black,
oily, and thick. Not bile. He didn't know what it was. It smelled worse than
bile. Much worse.
She
put her hand on his forehead and kept her other one on his shoulder. His
stomach muscles hurt so badly that it took sustained effort to unclench himself
when he finished.
"Lie
down," she ordered. "I will return."
She
helped him recline, then left with the cup through a heretofore unseen flap.
Minutes
passed before she reappeared. The cup was full, but this time not with the
water. She helped him sit up enough so he could drink. The medicine was yellow
and powdery and tasted of wildflowers covered in pollen dust. Not unpleasant at
all.
"You'll
sleep now," she told him. "Your life is still in danger, Anurag, so I
shall remain here. Sleep now."
He
didn't need to be told twice. He was out almost before she quit speaking.
~~*~~
He
woke with the sounds of regular, deep breathing next to him. He tried sitting
up, and gave up before an agonized groan could escape his lips. His stomach
muscles felt so strained as to be herniated. He wondered if he hadn't indeed
torn them with all his violent convulsions.
It
was dark in the tent, almost beyond the ability to see anything. The breather
was right next to him, at his right shoulder. He reached out cautiously, felt
around in the dark. He felt ... another shoulder. Or what felt like another
shoulder. Dohbdy's?
There
was no blanket on him, but he was still covered in sticky sweat, like he just
ran ten misons under a burning sun. The fur under him was wet with it. His
heart raced. The nausea was largely gone, but it had been replaced with a
headache that felt like the crown of his head had been split open with a large
rock. He felt breathless, and his throat was parched. He craved the amazing
water. He craved it so badly he didn't know if he could remain lying there. He
needed to find it and drink it. Drink it all! But he had no idea where it was,
or what the container it was in looked like. Worse, he didn't know if drinking
it at this stage would harm him. It was clearly medicinal. Could he overdose on
it? Dohbdy had warned that too much of it would help, not harm, the
perversions—the Tracluse—inside him.
But
how long ago was that?
Damnit!
He couldn't just lie here and suffer!
Gritting
his teeth, he did his best to swallow the grunts and groans as he fought to sit
up as quietly and unobtrusively as he could. He got to an elbow; then, with one
big excruciating push, he grabbed for his bent knees. He managed only slight
success concealing his heavy breaths.
Sitting
upright, he noticed the slit of the tent flap. Flickering yellow light
illuminated it from without. A campfire. But too little light got into the
teepee for him to make out who else was in here with him.
He
forced himself to his knees, then to his feet. He had to bend to keep from
touching the tent's slanting skin walls, and bending hurt like hell. He guessed
and took a big tentative step towards the flap, hoping he'd not step on the
sleeping person. He brought his foot down slowly. Nothing but floor. He pushed
through the flap and stepped out.
The
campfire was just a few paces from him. It was little more than small, tired
flames dancing over the ashen remains of logs. No one tended it.
Dohbdy's
ueto was decently sized: ten or
twelve tents in all, probably twenty or twenty-five people, total.
Sweating,
his thirst for the water becoming more urgent by the second, his head
throbbing, he marched out of the camp and the fire's weak sphere of light and
into the foggy night.
The
ueto was camped right next to the
cove, just a hundred or so paces from the beach. He staggered into the loose
sand. Water lapped contentedly and quietly here; beyond the inlet he could hear
the roar of the great waves of the Verisimilius
Ocean
He
stepped into the water. He still wore his pants (he didn't know where his shirt
or boots were), and thought he'd like to strip naked, but then decided against
it.
The
water was bitingly cold. It felt wonderful. Goosebumps like hard shocks ran up
and down his spine. He pushed out until his knees were submerged, then out
farther until his shoulders were almost under. He took a deep breath and
submerged completely. He let the Urge overcome him and flashed in the watery
blackness.
Powerful
muscles. Heightened senses. Confidence. Purpose. He pressed forward, swimming
effortlessly. The seawater rushed over him, around him, beneath him.
There
was never a time when he didn't glory in the sensation of being a shark. But
this was something different. The feeling of being one, of the ocean, of the
night, called to him as no other time had. He filled his stomach with seawater,
and was startled that it felt and tasted identical to the amazing water Dohbdy
had given him. But instead of biting him, of making him want more, it merely
flushed through him, Healing him instantly as it did. It came to him then that
she had been giving him Transformed water, and wondered how she had thought to
do so, or how one actually Transformed water (he knew it could be done, but
didn't know how), or why he hadn't thought to do this, Transform himself, in
the past. It was an obvious solution that could've saved him tons of misery.
He
surfaced next to the Selaki, swam
around her a couple of times. He thought he should board her and start sending
out Arrowsparrows (The Apprentice has
come!), but the water felt so good that he decided they could wait a little
longer. He dove under and with a sustained thrust left the cove altogether.
The
Verisimilius Ocean
Sea
creatures weren't used to sharks with human intelligence. For aeons they had
fled from the regular variety, and had got used to avoiding such. He was
therefore able to eat a healthy portion of a small school of flat-bellied
yellowfish next to the bottom before they realized they were dealing with
something extraordinary and scattered out of sight. Still hungry, he chased
down and consumed an eel before it could flee into deeper, less illuminated
waters.
He
could feel his strength slowly return to him as he trolled around under the
watery light of Ammalinaeus. He drank once more some time later, then turned
back for the cove. He got to the Selaki
and flashed at the stern ladder. He climbed it and stood upon the deck,
shivering and dripping. He still felt very weak and lightheaded, and his human
stomach muscles still hurt like hell, but the nausea and headache were gone. He
knew they weren't going to come back.
>>4<<
~~*~~
