Not that Tokela could see, eyes and skull aflame from the keening not-sound. He kept dragging himself along the quay towards Našobok.
Ilhukaia crawled with the creatures. The Riverwalkers resisted takeover with everything they’d to hand. But there were too many of the things, overwhelming strong fighters as if they were children. And the screaming—scraping from inside out, raking Fire down his spine.
N’da, not Fire.
It wasn’t just the things that let out those horrific shrieks, but River, whose cries had turned to pain as the Shaped creatures swarmed, swam, infested…
A thick snarl clotting his throat, Tokela crawled on his belly over the quay. Even as every instinct buttressed his heart with horror and rage, the horrific not-sound still had the power to stagger him, make him slip.
He couldn’t slip. He couldn’t stand by while these things had their way, couldn’t let them catch him, couldn’t allow the horrific noise to blind him, snare him.
There was another way.
The creatures, diverted, swarmed over the quay and pulled Tokela into River.
And Tokela let them, slipping into Her like swimmingKin, sinking like a stone.
RIVER TOOK Našobok in a crash and swirl of foam. Furious, stinging claws tore at him, slimy limbs choked as the creatures pressed him. Twisting, stealing the breath from his lungs, pulling him down into the deeps. And the more they descended, the more of them came.
Deeper still. Pressure, and his ears pulsing thick, and what Wind he’d taken with that last gasp and laugh was failing. A hum rose behind wide-open eyes, foam, and murk, and Shaped creatures choking the life from him, and Našobok pondered it—all of it—within the span of one heartbeat. It seemed River would claim him at the last, and he could only hope Sea would bless this last dalliance with Her sister.
Palatan, he whispered, as a carmine haze began to bleed over his vision. Aylaniś. His next thought was both surprise and solace: Tokela. Ai, I’m so sorry. I tried.
A flurry in the water, then. Fury and panic, shrieks and grunts, clicks and whistles; all echoing over him, through him. The claws loosed him, stripes of pain raking in their wake. Something struck him in the belly, nigh folding him in half. The rest of his used-up breath escaped, a final gout of bubbles, and the water filled his mouth with salt and his own blood.
He was moving, flying backwards through the water with a passive violence that rolled him then, impossibly, impelled him into the light. Našobok broke the surface with a choke and cough. Wind filled his aching lungs and he clutched outwards, a spastic judder like to the instincts of a dropped newborn. One hand struck wet wood, the other moulded with the skin of his torso against something alive: wide, and slick, and cool.
For the longest heartbeats of his life he couldn’t see, could only clutch to Ilhukaia’s hull with one hand and the slick-wet hide of his saviour/captor with the other, could only puke River and gasp Wind until, finally, he was able to go slack, panting. Slowly, Našobok opened his eyes.
Another eye regarded him—lidless, the colour of shallow Sea and wet kelp. His fingers twitched against skin mottled pink and grey, glossy with wet and smoother than duskLands leather.
The smiling fish blew, sucked in clean Wind. The spray misted Našobok’s face, reeking of brack and fish, then the smiling fish made a string of ša’s creaking, squeaking talk, which cut off with a piercing whistle, before ša swerved and dove sideways, away.
River was filled with ša’s kin, pods leaping and thrashing, squealing and clicking. Not just the smiling fish, but swimmingKin of every description—fish, reptiles, even the flyingKin obliged to River’s bounty were diving from the sky. The oddly rhythmic chaos darted over and around his craft, as if the perpetrators were out for a lark.
Beneath, however, lurked serious intent. A bare length from him, a pair of smiling fish dove into one of the Shaped creatures, their high-pitched talk drowning its cries even as they took it under.
Ichor rose in ebon puffs, and flyingKin dove, literally picking up the pieces.
My people! Tokela!
Shaking away both revulsion and fascination, Našobok remanded himself to thisnow. He inched sideways, one callused hand unsheathing the dagger at his calf, the other caressing Ilhukaia’s hull until he found a dangling rope. Knife in teeth, he hauled away and landed upon the deck, dripping and ready for anything.
Anything, perhaps, but what he found.
Below, River churned in copper chaos, twisted predators becoming prey. The deck lay oddly quiet, almost peaceful. The… things were gone, only ichor and slime left upon the wet, smooth deck. His crew stood, still and shaken but all accounted for, even the steerKeeper clinging to his tiller with several of the younger ones who’d kept fierce guard over their elder.
Yet none paid any heed, staring towards the bow.
Našobok followed their gazes. Saw what the others did, balanced on Ilhukaia’s front sprit, feet bare and wet to skin, eyes filled black and pocked with Stars.
WINGS. THE Power that would call monsters had wings, ones spread to cover the Sun, calling a StarVoid to Shape a cage.
Tokela dove through River towards Ilhukaia’s hull and climbed to meet the thing. He knew he wasn’t alone, not thisnow, perhaps never again.
And when he called, They came—not just the Elementals, but the co-tenants who were claimed by them, Spirit and flesh.
Little brother, We are here.
Fire was first—of course—running Star-cast sparks that struck, searing. Wind carried them, frothing River into tide-swollen glory. Earth grounded Ilhukaia’s bow, so that those who belonged to
