I could go for a dip. The water beckons and the island in the distance pulls strangely at my heart. What’s out there?
Easing behind a high clump of fluffy white grass near the water’s edge, I strip off my clothes. First my dress, then my slip, and then my underpants. Once I’m bare, I hold the clothes to my chest and hurry to the water, into the rushes where the mud squelches between my toes, and then out farther where the bottom is sandier, the water pleasantly cool, and the sun warm.
Once I’m hidden up to my chest, I stop and scrub my clothes as best I can. There’s no soap here nor any of the blumerin flowers to use for suds, but at least I can get the sweat rinsed off. So I do, then wring the water away and toss the clothes as far as I can out of the lake. They land in front of the white, tufted grass. Mama always said I had an arm.
I lie back in the water, wetting my hair and running my fingers through it. Turning, I look at the island, and I feel the strange pull again. I need a closer look. Striking out toward it, I churn the water, my arms wind-milling as I kick. When I stop to breathe more deeply, I can’t touch the bottom, so I tread water and stare at the island that’s still shrouded in mist. I can almost hear something out there. Like a song or a bird singing sweetly.
My body goes into motion again, and I swim for as long as I can before my lungs burn and I have to stop and tread water. The song is louder now, the water cooler, and the sun disappears behind a cloud. I squint at the island, trying to see through the mist but failing. Even so, I have to know what’s out there. Some logical part of my mind points out that the island must be miles away, that I’ll never make it, that I’ll drown. But I don’t listen to that, because what’s important is finding the source of the song, discovering what the island holds for me.
Again, I push ahead, each stroke bringing me closer, my muscles stinging as I fight the water. When I stop, I go under for a moment, then kick back to the surface coughing and sputtering. I should turn around. But the music comes again, stronger this time even though the island seems just as far away as when I started.
The water ripples to my right, and I finally tear my gaze away from the misty land. The music stops.
“What am I doing?” I shake my head and spin in the water. The shore is so far away. My head goes under again, and I struggle to stay afloat.
This time when I kick to propel myself back to the surface, my foot hits something. And that something hits back.
12
Solano
She goes under as I swim hard through the treacherous water. I could use my thin vein of water magic to speed my pace, but I suspect I’ll need to save it for Malnaloch, who already has a grip on my nightling.
I take in a huge gulp of air, Brock’s yell ringing in my ears, then dive hard and fast. Emma’s fighting a deep green tendril that drags her easily toward the monstrous creature that rules over this lake. Did Emma not notice there are no fairies, no pixies, no water sprites here? Nothing can survive Malnaloch’s hunger.
A thicker tentacle swipes for me, but I heat the water, burning it as it shrivels back toward the island. I’d happily boil this lake, but not with the changeling in it. So, I keep fighting to her as she struggles and whirls. She has to stop and conserve her breath, but she doesn’t. She keeps trying to escape.
I surge forward, boiling two more thick tendrils that shoot toward me. The tendrils move faster, and Malnaloch’s roar bubbles through the water.
She’s close now, her eyes closed, her red hair hiding her face as it floats around her. The tendril strengthens its hold as I approach, double wrapping her waist as two more grip her ankles. Her terrified eyes finally find me as she clutches her throat and she goes limp, the water overtaking her.
“Spires!” I reach for her, taking hold of her arm and summoning my magic. I use the water, turning it into a blade that slices the tentacles away from her. Another roar shakes the water as I pull her free then send a bolt of white-hot sun sizzling toward the island.
Clutching her to me, I kick toward the surface. My lungs burn, but I can’t stop, not when she’s limp and lifeless in my arms. The sun emerges from a cloud and lights the blue above me. I push for it, and when I finally break free, I hoist her up.
“Emma!” I tread water, my magic forming a fiery, sizzling orb around us as Malnaloch continues throwing its hungry tantrum.
She isn’t breathing, her lips a horrible shade of blue. Healing will do no good. She’s not injured. She’s … I refuse to think it.
Taking in a deep gulp of air, I press my mouth to hers and blow. She doesn’t wake, so I try again and again. Fear like I’ve never known grips me somewhere deep inside like an icy hand around my heart. I don’t question it. I can only feel. And I have to make that feeling stop.
“Come on, nightling.” I try again, pushing more life into her.
My fire orb begins to flutter. Wind is building nearby. It has to be Brock, but I can’t bother with him now, not with Emma’s life ebbing away. I say a quick prayer to the Ancestors, press my mouth to hers, and give one more push of my breath.
She sputters, water pouring from her as I whoop and my fire dances and swirls. Clinging to me, she breathes in hard, then coughs and coughs as I kick away from Malnaloch. Brock floats past me, his own breeze carrying him closer to the monster.
I almost tell him to leave it be, but the shaking nightling in my arms changes my mind on that. The creature needs to suffer for thinking my consort could serve as its meal.
“What was that?” She clings to my neck as I swim.
“Malnaloch. It lured you with something akin to siren song.”
Turning her head, she gasps as the island rises from the water, its multitude of tentacles and long feelers whipping wildly as Brock’s wind forms a vortex around it. Three huge eyes appear, and its cavernous mouth opens, the enormous teeth inside dripping as it roars. The movement of the water serves as a wave at our backs, and I cruise ahead quickly, using what little of my water magic remains to propel us to the shallows.
When I finally touch the bottom, I stand and keep her under one arm as I raise my other hand. My magic whips out in an angry beam, lighting Brock’s vortex on fire as Malnaloch screams and its tentacles sizzle and jerk.
Her grip on me tightens, and I become painfully aware of her nudity. “I kept swimming to it. I didn’t want to, not really, but I thought if only I could reach the island…” She shivers.
