Candor watched the storm clouds roll over her, the wind rifling through her hair. Her braids kept most of it from her face, but a few wisps broke free and tumbled into her eyes. Candor looked up: across the bottom of the clouds she could see the hooves of horses, the paws of wolves and bears, and the fins of fish, all charging through the air towards the beach. Candor shivered and adjusted her course. She hoped desperately that Thorn and Letti had escaped the sands and were moving east. Candor’s chest hurt; there was not a moment in her life she could remember when Letti was not by her side. She was as much a sister as Mo and Lola were her mothers. Now she was gone. Candor missed her company; she had felt safer with Letti around. There was less chance of Candor falling head over heels into the madness she so teetered on lately with Letti around. Now she was well and truly alone.
After the storm rolled over, the sun reappeared far above the clouds. The meager rays were unusual to Candor, whose experience on water had always taught her the waves magnified the light. This voyage felt wintery, cold, like she was sailing on the edge of a sword. Without the wind from the tempest, Candor’s sail sagged, and she and the little boat floated to a near standstill on the waves. After cataloguing the surface of the water, Candor attempted to maneuver the little boat to catch a puff of air from the north, taking her further south than she’d hoped to go. On inspiration, Candor reached over to her pack, checking along the strap to see if—yes it was. The compass Thorn had instructed her to use so many weeks ago was still tied to her pack. Carefully, she pulled it from her sack and flipped it open, examining the arrow. Indeed, she was veering further south than she intended, but it was where she could catch the wind. The current, as far as Candor could tell, seemed to sweep northwest, so she reasoned she would be kept relatively on course for the time being. She tucked the compass back in her pack, marvelling that she had not used it yet. Despite her developed distrust of the man, Candor had followed Thorn rather blindly. Now that she was now alone, charting her own course, she missed the comfort of the man’s certainty. He had been far from consistent in motive, but his direction had been true. Candor shook herself and focused once more on the sea. The wind had picked up rather quickly: it tickled the back of her neck.
Trying to stay as angled to the swells as she could, Candor gently adjusted the tiller to turn the boat more directly east. The wind gusted hard from the north, tipping the boat every few moments. Candor returned the bow to a more southward trajectory, hoping to forestall some of the more violent gusts. With each breath of wind, the air around her grew colder, until Candor was shivering on the hull. She had tucked her feet under a looser strand of rope that Thorn had insisted she take, but the size of the boat and her need to use her weight to balance against the tipping had left her soaked. Candor clamped her teeth together as they began to chatter.
A sound like the flap of large wings caused Candor to search the sky, but she could see nothing that would cause such a noise. Candor checked her hulls to make sure they were not taking on water, but after a quick glance, she could see no leaking seams. As she continued eastward, the sun drew closer to the north, its lengthening beams offering little light to a colorless sunset. Still the wind pushed Candor southward, and she struggled to bring the boat in line; she worried if she sailed too far south, she would sail around the island entirely, taking herself out to sea. Sailing this channel is one thing, Candor thought to herself, but open ocean is asking to drown. The flapping sound echoed once more, and Candor realized it was coming from the water.
As Candor yanked on her sail, she noticed a shadow seem to fall across the water behind the boat. She looked at the sky but saw nothing that would cast such a silhouette. As the shadow followed her, Candor realized with a jolt of pure terror that it was not a shadow at all; it was a sea creature. And it had taken an interest in her. She realized belatedly she had heard its swimming motion; those hadn’t been flaps of wings, but rather snaps of fins. As Candor gazed back in horror, she tried to gauge the creature’s size. Candor realized with panic that she could not tell how long it was, for its watery silhouette reached further than she could see. A long fin broke the surface, stretching nearly three lengths into the sky, before it sliced back into the water. Candor looked up at her little mast; the fin towered at least a full length above it. There was nothing for it but to continue sailing forward. Candor’s gut tightened, but she turned back to her bow. Every few moments, as her boat crested a swell, Candor thougth she could hear a curious sucking sound, as if the ocean were sipping on a thick drink. It did not comfort her.
Candor wondered at her hearing; she thought it had sharpened since she had left the village. She wondered idly, as the creature sat on her mind and she dipped into a trough, if this hearing was part of her Fae blood. She wished she had inherited the physical ability of the Fae, remembering her burning muscles in the Kotemor and the way Riven and Cairlaen and even the broken Fae had run north.
The sun drew quietly off the north horizon, leaving small stars to blink into existence over Candor. The fin poked out of the water behind Candor once more, but the creature did not seem to be interested in doing anything but following. As Candor tried to navigate in the darkness, she wondered what other creatures lurked beneath the swells, how far the ocean floor lay below, and just how far the Citadel was.
The puffs of wind that had grown more violent during the day seemed to need rest as much as Candor and had petered out in the moments after the sun went down. The sipping sound had not abated, however, and Candor did not like that she could see very little.
Without warning, a large light began to glow from behind Candor. Alarmed, she turned and yet out a yelp, which she quickly stifled.
Her new companion shone with a watery green light. Now that he offered the glow, Candor could see the creature clearly. He stretched nearly three lengths across, and likely five to six lengths long. Its eyes sat, stretched out on either side of its head on long pieces of flesh. Its back fins pressed it through the water, though it trailed languidly behind Candor’s shaky progress. As Candor glanced down, she saw the eyes roll up and meet her gaze; Candor almost smiled. Gasping, she felt a wave of images and emotions assault her mind.
“Candor.” Candor gasped, pointing to herself. She remembered the bats from the teeth and wondered if these creatures were related in some way. The shark, for that’s what the animal was, she knew now, seemed to wriggle happily.
Candor faced forward once more, feeling safer than she had all day. With the light from the shark, Candor could use her compass instead of the stars, whose light had been measly at best.
Slowly, Candor sailed through the night, hoping she would see the edge of the island when the sun rose once more. The rocking of the boat tempted Candor’s eyelids, but she fought to stay awake. Quietly, she began humming to herself to keep her mind moving. She hummed one of Letti’s favorite songs, a story of lost resolve between two starcrossed lovers. As she hummed, Candor heard a new noise accompany the odd drinking sound. A deep thrum seemed to vibrate up through the water, shaking Candor’s boat. Candor started violently and glanced back at the shark. His eyes had flipped up again to look at her; he seemed to be enjoying himself. Candor realized he too, was humming. She was delighted and quickly began to hum another song. The shark’s deep purr wove in and out of her melody, hodling no tune but functioning almost as percussion. As they sang together, Candor noticed another noise join the cacophony, softly at first, but growing in intensity. Unable to see further than a length or so ahead of the boat, Candor could not see what might be making the noise. It reminded Candor of the drains in the basins they had washed in.
Without warning, Candor found herself plunged into darkness. Her new companion dissapeared into the depths of the ocean, winking off as he went. A small ripple of his quick exit propelled Candor’s boat forward slightly, and her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness.
Her stomach dropped; nothing good would frighten such a large creature. Candor peered through the night, willing her eyes to work. I couldn’t receive this gift either? Candor griped to herself. What piece of Fae do I actually posess? Unable to see her compass, Candor returned her eyes to the sky, listening to the unpleasant sucking sound grow louder.
Finally, the sky lightened in the south, painting the sea’s ceiling a hazy, faded blue. With the little light, Candor saw it. Before her, perhaps a span ahead, the sea curled into itself in an enormous swirling maelstrom.
Candor gasped, realizing why the shark had abandonded her. On the far side of the swirling water, Candor could just make out the silhouette of an island erupting from the sea.
So close. Candor thought desperately. As she dithered, trying to decide what to do, Candor felt the wind pick back up, striking the sail in such a way the boat slid straight towards the whirlpool.
I’ll need to sling myself off the top of it, Candor decided. She angled her boat northwest and tried to gauge the edge of the maelstrom. If she could break out of the current, it might send her quickly from the pool, if not, well, there was no better option. Candor set her jaw and took a moment to tighten her belt. Her sword pressed into her leg reassuringly. As the sun rose in the south, Candor beheld the enormity of her trial; the maelstrom lay at least a half span across, its sides as steep as the hill house. Candor took stock of her little boat, realizing it would take a miracle for the twine to survive the strain.
She pressed forward. As the boat drew nearer, Candor tugged on the tiller as much a she dared, feeling the implacable power of the ocean on its far end. The wind filled her sails, driving Candor towards the center of the maelstrom. The boat stood up on its far hull, leaving Candor hiking out for dear life, trying to bring the vessel back into balance. As the wind slowed, it crashed back into the water, dousing Candor from top to bottom. I do not weigh enough for this. She thought to herself, frantic. Her gaze fell upon her pack, and Candor had an idea. Eyes flicking from the patter of air along the sea’s surface to the currents tugging the ocean into its underwater storm, Candor made a decision.
With as much speed as she could afford, Candor untied the pack from the mast, and strapped it to herself, using the rope with which Thorn had tied it to the mast to secure it around her waist. Her abdominals strained, but as the boat yawed to the far hull once more, Candor leaned back and kept it going north, outside of the depth of the maelstrom. Tugging and straining, Candor managed to keep the boat on course, though she noticed every time she pressed the tiller, the rudder groaned in protest. Slowly, Candor inched into the sea storm. Slowly, she worked around the edge to keep herself out of the heaviest currents.
As she drew even with the center of the whirlpool, Candor’s stomach dropped. The sea frothed and foamed, its level sitting further down than Candor thought imaginable. Around it, walls of water spun, pure force of momentum drawing them out from the center. Candor bared her teeth in a rebel grin, not triumphant, but unafraid. She knew this was not a natural occurrence; this was majik. She wondered if she had a real chance at escape.
Tearing her eyes from the pool, Candor refocused on attempting to slingshot herself from this nightmare. As she crested the far edge, Candor felt a jolt of triumph; she was so close. At the same time, her boat jerked to a near standstill. Candor looked at the sail, dumbfounded; it was still full. The wind still whipped into the snakeskin, trying to push her forward. The current, however, had grown, and as it crept to the surface, it tugged the boat backwards. As Candor glanced behind her, she realized with dread, the likes of which she had never experienced, that the maelstrom had grown. The mast groaned, its base straining between the wind and the current. In a flash of horror, Candor realized what was about to happen.
“No!” The word tore at her throat as it escaped, ringing up through the mast which for the briefest of moments had gone utterly silent. Then it ripped out of the hulls, splintering and splitting, and falling into the sea.
Without the momentum of the wind, the hulls slunk backwards with alarming speed. Candor, having no time to think, retracted her feet from the rope between the hulls, and jumped after the sail. She began to swim, using all her strength, the muscle memory from her childhood. She tried to untie the pack but could not stop swimming long enough to loosen the knots. The currents tore her backwards. Refusing to give up, Candor yelled, hoping beyond hope she could make it past the edge of the storm. She watched the mast drift past her, Thorn’s snakeskin shimmering slightly on the water. Candor did not try to grab it but felt its slide past her legs. She felt a pang of guilt but reasoned she would need to survive to make it up to the man. As she kicked, Candor felt an unpleasant tightness around her leg, just above her knee. Panicking, thinking another creature of the deep had caught her, Candor plunged under the water to try to escape her new captor.
No animal assailed her, rather it was the rope that had allowed Candor to adjust the sail. Somehow, it had caught on her pack and wrapped around her leg. The mast drew steadily back towards the eye of the maelstrom. Candor kicked hard, surfacing for a moment, before drawing her sword in a last desperate attempt to escape. The current intensified as Candor struggled, pulling the mast, and Candor, harder. Candor felt herself tumbling backwards underwater. Losing air, she struggled to the surface once more. As she descended again, Candor froze; in the few short moments it had taken her to fill her lungs, the mast had fallen to the center of the pool. Candor tried to saw through the rope, but it was too late; as the mast snapped from her, she shoved her sword back into its sheath and watched the froth and foam of the ocean suck her down to the ocean’s bottom. As soon as Candor fell through the eye, the spinning walls of water collapsed, burying both the eye and Candor far under the deep blue waves. Candor floated slightly, suspended in the empty water. She could hear nothing, and the small light from the surface seemed so very far away. She felt her air drawing to its inevitable end inside her, and dark spots assailed her vision. An opaque cloud blocked her view of the surface, and Candor watched Thorn’s snakeskin, which had somehow disconnected itself from the mast, drift downwards, covering her like a blanket.
Candor thought of Letti’s fear of the ocean as it had washed over them on the beach, and suddenly found it completely justified. Never had the sea betrayed her like this. This was it; after so little time alive, Candor felt the life draining out of her. She thought of Mo and Lola, Letti and Thorn. She thought of Hroth, and Riven, and all the people she would be leaving behind, and those she might see again. Candor felt like laughing; what kind of world was this that she had inhabited? There was too much pain, too much injustice. Perhaps this was the right course, dying young. Candor shook her head slightly. Candor watched her last bubbles trail hurriedly upwards, before closing her eyes and passing out of time.
Unaware of how many moments had passed, or if in fact she was dead, Candor felt something on her lips, a slight pressure, and opened her eyes once more. Nothing around her, Candor felt the heavy burn of the same absence of air she had just experienced. Around her arms, Candor felt a sticky current, almost as if there were hands around her biceps, pulling her upward. As Candor looked around to see what, or who, was dragging her upwards, her air failed her once more, and she dropped off into the pretty blackness.
Candor awoke on the side of a hull. Discovering just how much water her lungs now housed, she coughed violently, before shaking for a moment. Returning to herself, Candor took stock of her surroundings. The sea was still, offering no indication of the whirlpool that had just bent it inward. No wind alit upon Candor’s face, and, lifting her head ever so slightly, Candor could see no shudders on the water that implied its arrival.
Before her, Candor could see the island, a small silhouette still painted on the horizon. Candor thought of the hands, the sea that had lifted her from its own depths. What was that? Candor thought, who saved me?
But the sea offered no answer, and Candor had not expected it would. It was one thing to offer another chance at life, it was entirely too much to explain that second chance.
With more effort than Candor had ever spent, she began to kick, holding onto the floating hull with all her might. Slowly, the island grew closer. Ever so slowly, she felt the ocean pass by. Her legs grew heavy, one muscle seizing after another. Candor paused, flipping onto her back to extract water from her ruck. She drained it and stuck the deflated skin back in her pack. Slipping it back on, her muscles groaned, but she pressed forward. There was no other option. The sun set again, and as it sunk, its bright rays threw the island into sharper relief. Candor marveled at its beauty; she was now close enough to see its foliage, its beach. It rose to a point, flattening to meet the ocean at its base. It looked, Candor thought hazily, like a peak from the Kotemor had migrated to the center of the ocean. I wonder if it is lonely, Candor felt sad.
It took her a moment to realize that the sun was much brighter, much more golden, than it had been on the other side of the whirlpool. Candor found it much more welcoming, until it highlighted in sharp relief, dark clouds that hung heavy in the sky on the far side of the island.
No. Candor could have cried; she could not survive another storm. She began to kick faster, eyes on the west. Too soon, her thighs burned, and her shoulders ached. She was loathe to drop the hull or the pack as one offered her floatation and the other was her entire life, but she contemplated how fast she might swim without them. Still, she kicked on, aided somewhat by the current that rushed waves to shore. Just as quickly as she swam, so too did the storm tumble over itself to the island. Candor knew at this rate she would not make it to shelter before the storm broke but hoped beyond hope to at least drag herself onto land before the waves crashed over her. She knew she would not be rescued a second time.
Thunder boomed in the distance, and lighting struck the side of the water-bound mountain. As the waves grew, Candor let the hull go, using her arms as much as she could as well as her legs. Though she wanted to wait for a lull in the surf, she realized she had no choice but to surrender herself to the tumble and hope she survived. Ducking under the swells for one last moment of peace, Candor thrust her head back up and paddled on the swell as hard as she could. It began to rain, fat drops splashed over her head even as she surfed slowly towards the beach.
The rain obscured her vision, and Candor was surprised to find her boots touching sand along the ocean floor. Relief swept through her; she was so close. The waves crashed into each other, roaring over the sand of the beach. The cacophony was so loud, Candor wanted to cover her ears. Candor wondered idly if this was why starfish left their homes if it were this loud on the bottom of the sea too. She couldn’t imagine it would be.
As Candor trooped out of the ocean, a rogue wave plunged over her, knocking her to the ground. Candor felt a slight pressure, then a horrible burning sensation in her left shoulder. She howled in pain.
Scrambling forward, Candor discovered the beach was covered in tree trunks, dead stumps that soared towards the sky like long forgotten pillars. They were eerie, and as the rain continued to pound, Candor jumped at each one that loomed out of the storm, causing her shoulder to scream in agony. Candor trudged forward, having no energy to move any faster. She knew she needed to get off the beach; trees would offer slightly more protection from the sea, and at the moment, she had had more than enough brine.
A heavy mist had descended with the rain, and Candor stumbled forward, trying desperately to put distance between herself and the ocean. With a wrong step, she stumbled, tripping over something hidden in the tempest. She caught herself on her left arm, almost passing out with the pain. Spitting up the water that she retched, Candor looked back to see what she had tripped over. A small, white, block sat in its disturbed sand. Candor looked up; she had stumbled right past an old structure. White columns grew out of the sand into a heavy portico. While some of the columns seemed to be worse for the wear, a sturdy wall within them held the roof up. Candor stood, gritting her teeth, and wrapped her way around the building to find an entrance. Facing the sea, a wide entryway invited her, the interior of the building dark and sandy. Squatting in the front corner near enough to the door that she could see the storm, Candor used her good arm to untie the rope that bound the pack to her waist. Carefully, keeping the weight from her shoulder as much as she could, Candor dropped the pack on the ground and tried to examine her injury. The top of her arm seemed to stick out in front of the shoulder, and Candor retched again. Candor snatched the rope from her pack and stuck it in her mouth. As quickly as she could manage, Candor used her right arm to pull her left arm forward. She remembered Mo’s words as she taught Candor how to replace a shoulder. “This is a common enough injury.” She’d said. “Unstable joints, shoulders.” Candor had resolved never to hurt her that particular conjoining. So much for that, Candor thought grimly. Focusing on Mo’s face, Candor placed her left hand on the stone wall, enjoying the coolness against her skin. With the top of her arm in place, Candor tried to relax, pulling her mind from the pain and willing her muscles to give, just a moment, so what she was about to do would be less painful.
Nothing for it, Candor realized, she could not escape the agony. Mo was much better at dissociating than she had ever been. With a yell, Candor bent her left elbow and placed her right hand over the shoulder. With all the gumption she had left, Candor jutted her body forward, using the momentum and the wall and her own hand to shove her joint back into place.
Candor collapsed, howling, tears streaming from her cheeks. Her shoulder was back in its socket. Though she had no intention of moving it, it did offer her some peace of mind to know she now use it if she abslutely needed. Candor crawled over to her pack and ripped open the top.
The first thing she saw was the tarp, folded neatly and placed above her possessions. Candor felt her knees give out. This isn’t possible, Candor thought, sinking onto the pack. She caught herself and winced. Digging into the stomach in which Thorn had wrapped all her possessions, Candor found one of Letti’s shawls, a surprisingly sentimental choice for Thorn to include. Candor was grateful, and she tied the ends together to crate a makeshift sling. She would have to stretch tomorrow, but immobilizing it felt good. The next thing she saw was the water skin, empty. “Stones below.” Candor swore and began to consider her next actions. She desperately needed water, and though she had some food left, it was not a lot. Candor walked over to the doorway to the beach and looked up at the sky. To her surprise, the rain had let up ever so slightly, and the mist that had obscured her sight seemed to have risen. The clouds writhed above her, forming into what looked like human feet. She watched, mouth open, as the cloud-people brought swords against each other, each strike a clap of thunder. As Candor watched, she could make out additional shapes in the tempest: Fae. Cloud pixies flew into battle against humans, what appeared to be elves struck helmet clad men across the island. Candor winced as the thunder thrummed through the air. Her teeth rattled; this was a different violence than the first beach had elicited. There was more malice here, more sorrow.
Candor tore her eyes from spectacle, focusing on the ache in her shoulder and her need to sleep. Water. She thought, I need water.
Gingerly, Candor picked up the water skin, and squatted, trying to figure out how to gather the rain. Scanning the structure, Candor walked quickly around its perimeter, hoping against hope there would be some sort of vessel she could use as a bucket. The space was empty but for sand that had blown or washed in over the years. Candor noticed along the walls painted murals, but the space was too dark to make out their figures, and Candor too thirsty to think on much else. She returned to her vigil in the doorway. Still the clouds fought each other; Candor wondered, rather disoriented, if they ever grew tired of this battle.
As her eyes dropped to the ground, Candor saw the rain drops drill into the sand, forming tiny craters where they landed. She had an idea. Stepping out into the rain, Candor dropped to her knees and, using her good arm, began to dig. She thrust the sand away from her, before building a small, mounded ring around the hole. Carefully, she extracted the skin from her sling and draped it over the hole she had made. Tucking the top of the sling over the mounded sand, Candor watched the bottom begin to fill with water. Satisfied, Candor sat back for a moment, raising her face to the cloud-warriors, letting the rain wash over her, coating her face. She knew she could not sleep yet. She did not know the rise of the tide, and while she was confident she would awaken if it caught her in the building, she could not afford sea water to taint her fresh water collection. Candor groaned again, thinking further into the future. With effort, Candor rose to her feet once more and traipsed into the hall. Opening her pack, she used both feet to hold it down as she pulled the stomach, holding everything she owned, out of the ruck. As gently as she could, Candor dumped the sack’s contents back into her pack, wincing as she heard her clothes strike the wet ground.
Returning to the storm, Candor dug another hole, bigger, and stuck the second skin inside. Her shoulder aching, Candor stood, swaying. If I stay still, I will sleep, she thought. Placing one foot in front of the other, Candor began the Aiadar. She kept her left arm in its sling, using only her right arm in the movements.
Once through, the first skin was full. Candor took a long drink from it, tied it, and laid it next to her pack in the stone hall. What little light the storm had afforded was fading; night had arrived without warning. Candor returned to the beach, noticing belatedly that the storm-battle had dissolved, leaving only a gentle rain in its place. Candor could see to the sea now. Between the dead trees that shoved through the sand, she could see the waves still beating against the beach. They had shrunk, no longer the monstrous swells that had thrown her shoulder forward in its socket. Candor sighed, stepping again into the Aiadar.
Twice through, and the larger skin was full. Candor tied it, lifting with her back before lugging into the structure. Without any additional tasks, Candor took another long draught from the smaller skin, before collapsing right there on the floor, falling into a deep slumber.
~.~
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