All things considered, it was going as well as it could. The gnomes were exhibiting their usual resilience; the new leaders had stepped up to their roles, and Exodus had everyone working together like true teams.
Then things turned really dangerous.
The stream had burst its banks and the flat area around the exit ramp was rapidly becoming a floodplain. Heavily-laden gnomes waded through the brackish water, holding their supplies above their heads in an attempt to keep them dry—a mostly futile endeavor, for raindrops continued to hail down on them like liquid bullets from a million tiny slings.
More chunks of the wall crumbled away as the current forced its way through, roaring like a rampaging water spirit. A branch of driftwood knocked an elderly clothier from his feet. He disappeared under the surface, until two of the older juveniles hauled him back up, coughing and spluttering. With Ris’kin supporting them, the three gnomes managed to slip and slide their way up the ramp, the last of the green group to do so.
“Corey, they’re not all going to make it. We have to do something!”
But what?
My Sphere was still shrinking steadily. The column of mana globes, nine in total thanks to my recent and timely ascension, were grayed out, as was the inverted triangle that displayed my Faith levels and ascension progress. The only abilities I had available to me for the foreseeable future—Insight, Divine Inspiration, and Double Sight—would be of no use here; Ris’kin and my gnomes were already doing everything in their power to make sure everyone got out safely.
It wasn’t enough. The swirling water was too deep for my chariot to traverse; Gneil and the acolytes were a small cluster of white dots on my map, stranded at the edge of the floodplain.
To the left of them, a gaggle of orange dots—Graywall’s group—were struggling to attain the ramp, caught as they were in the debris-ridden currents of the rising flood. Graywall was calling to them, as though rallying them to his side in battle; the stolid warrior had planted his legs firmly, like a one-man shield wall against the forces of the rushing water. Two other warriors clung to him, reaching out to snag the clothes and reaching hands of others, until most of his group were clustered around him. Together, they began wading through the now neck-deep water toward the ramp.
Twain had already managed to reach the slope, but was clearly too exhausted to climb it. Even with the aid of the ropes, the wiry sawyer strained against the weight of two toddlers that were clinging to him like whipfish.
Whipfish…
With the exception of Binky, the presence of god-born creatures tended to either awe or terrorize my denizens to varying extents, generally rendering them useless. But if things continued like this, those who remained in the Grotto—myself included—would soon find themselves beyond useless in a watery grave.
I scanned my map. My shrinking sphere had eliminated more than half of my creations, but a few still remained.
In an eyeblink I summoned three forrels from the Passage and another three from each of the two branching tunnels that remained within my SOI; the third was already lost, its trio of guardians winked from existence in a puff of smoke, as were my forces in the Heart and the Sinkhole.
The outer edge of my Sphere was halfway across the Lake cavern, and before it cut off the room completely I called for the boulderskin that dwelt there. The whipfish, sadly, were gone.
The first forrels bounded into the cavern and immediately hared toward the floodplain. They plunged straight into the murky water without hesitation, their size and sturdiness making them less susceptible to the currents as they made for the struggling gnomes.
After lifting the terrified stragglers from the water, the forrels formed a chain from the base of the muddy ramp to the summit. With their aid and Graywall’s tireless encouragement, one by one the members of the orange group made it safely up to the surface.
Ris’kin gratefully left them to it and went to help Gneil. My high cleric was obviously torn between urging Bruce into the water and risking the chariot, or turning around and taking Coll’s convoluted route out via the Passage. But the latter would likely mean taking my SOI away from the rest of my denizens—since I was tethered to my gem in the ark—and I didn’t want to risk any possible repercussions from that.
Ket was thinking along the same lines.
“If you took your Sphere away from them, they’d still be waiting when you got back, right?”
“I don’t know. Probably. I’d rather not find out.”
A flash of Divine Inspiration reassured Gneil that help was coming, and his shoulders relaxed a little, though his face was still lined with trepidation. Behind him, in the chariot, the five acolytes were braced against the sides of the vehicle, clinging protectively to the ark lest the currents tear it from the chariot.
Tell them to hold tighter. You as well, I conveyed to Gneil.
My high cleric gulped, but he obediently pulled himself atop Bruce’s silver-furred back.
Just in time. Lightning flashed as the boulderskin came barreling in from the Passage, and for an instant everything was reduced to shades of blue-white and black. The boulderskin balked at the sudden light but continued on its trajectory, and by the time thunder rumbled out, it was skidding to a halt beside Bruce.
The badger snorted an uneasy greeting. Gneil waved from Bruce’s back. The boulderskin raised its head in acknowledgment of both. Perched atop the chariot, my acolytes gibbered and shook—the typical reaction of denizens within the vicinity of unfamiliar god-born. That was fine, though. All I needed them to do right now was hold on.
More of the wall crumbled away, more water surged in through the growing gap. What used to be a small crevice was now a gaping hole, yawning like the mouth of a great
