III. To Drown

As the road wound its way along through the forest along the River Tear, the ragtag group of smiths and miners came alive with hushed whispers and covert innuendos regarding their leader Kielan’s personal affairs. Being a generally affable man, he did his best to grin and bear it, but as the end of their particular backroad drew near, his trepidation grew. The long forgotten hollow way he had chosen was an overgrown and winding mess that likely added miles to their journey, only for it to wind up exactly where he set out to avoid. With a mild curse under his breath, he put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle, motioning with the other hand for the band to leave the road. A cry of “About bloo’y time” came from somewhere in the rear of the gaggle, which he responded to with a one finger salute.

He could not blame them however, unlike the warm sands of their homeland, the jagged rocks and gravel roads of the human realms were not conducive to bare feet. They were good for avoiding the damned river and its maiden though, an encounter he wished to delay for as long as possible. They could have largely avoided the river all together if they had taken the main track, but the less humans saw or knew of them the better. Experience had taught him that humans can be a fickle lot, and they were quick to blame any misfortune on the outsider, especially if that outsider is an elf. They were crazy about the cookware and cutlery his people made though, so he was not ready to dismiss them as all bad.

“Oi, goin’ tae see yer lover again eh?”

Kielan caught the toothy grin of his one-eyed lieutenant.

Kielan thumbed his nose and spat. “Piss off Eth.”

Eth laughed riotously. “Daen’t get mad at me Kielan; naebody told ye tae stick yer willy in that crazy river cunt.”

Kielan spat out a flaming ball of spittle, which hit the gravel and quickly fizzled out. Eth was not wrong, but he would be damned before he admitted it to that bastard. It had been nearly a year now since they had been this way, with an already long trip unnecessarily stretched out to avoid one of the most central rivers on the continent. Unfortunately, for him at least, the smoke of war and the trail of fleeing townsfolk signified the defeat of Runandia’s border nation. He did not know the combatants, nor particularly care; he just knew it would be best if they avoided being caught in the middle.

While the prospect of a good skirmish was more than a little enticing, it would mean nothing if they all died over a conflict that did not concern them. While the others of their group wore the ink symbolizing their skill as a craftsman or their wealth as a mine owner, only Eth wore the ink of a warrior in addition to all the others. They could defend themselves if needed, but not fight a war. If fortune were to smile upon his band, they would be in the labyrinth of the Wraith Wood within a week or two and be done with it.

“Shoulda known fire an’ water daen’t mix.” Eth stated matter-of-factly. “The day a Colby-Nau and a bloody river nymph resul' in anythin' o'her than a headache is the day I plant a sloppy wet one oon that bastard Donough’s lips.”

Kielan shook his unruly mane and quickened his pace. “Aye, well hindsight’ll give ye that kind o’ confidence, now won’t it?”

Unlike the Forest dwelling Sidhe, who replanted the world after the collapse, or his own people who mined the mountains of Rhode, the water folk did not really seem to give a damn about anything. Charged with protecting the rivers, seas, and lakes of the world, they were often concerned more with pleasure and merrymaking than the upkeep of their domains. They were also notoriously fickle and short tempered, as he had learned the hard way. Admittedly, they were usually at least somewhat predictable, their tempers only really flared when scorned, denied tribute or randomly, seemingly for no reason every twenty-eighth day.

As the small band of Elves drew closer to the tumultuous river, someone made the occasional tongue-in-cheek comment about red rivers, which only raised more questions regarding the river nymph’s odd behavior. This part of the river was usually quite calm; one only saw rapids like this at the point where it came down from the mountains or as it fell into the sea.

“What’s gotten inta yer woman laddie?” Eth persisted with several nudges to Kielans side.

Kielan swatted at his second adjusted his sword slung over his shoulder. “Fuck off Eth.”

Eth laughed heartily as Kielan quickened his pace yet again, damn near jogging, the midday sun causing sweat to bead on his bare torso. He led the group along the slightly undulating path along the rivers banks. The sun illuminated the path brilliantly, with ample shade under the growing midday heat. The occasional bird call was all that broke the constant roar of the rapids. Several stopped to check the ripeness of the blackberries as others revelled in the lovely weather. Mud caked their bare feet as they trekked through the woods, well away from and above the stone strewn beach of the river, and its waves that threatened to bridge the gap.

“Water levels raised by a hell of a lot.” Eth sparked up a cigar with a snap of his fingers.

“Oi!” Kielan called over his shoulder. “We’ve a ways yet tae go, pick up the pace why daen’t ye?”

As he turned back to the river, he saw that the rapids seemed to be concentrated on a single point, with all water after it relatively tranquil.

“What the hell?”

A massive wave rose up and crashed over some rocks, sending spray several dozen yards away. Curious, the group approached a clearing along the riverbank; it was evident that the nymph directed her fury at a something or someone. Kielan swore to himself as curiosity got the better of him. He issued a halt and approached the riverbank.

“Lillea,” he called out, barely above a whisper.

* * *

Aichlan gasped for air as his head broke the surface of the freezing rapids. Several large waves buffeted him as he swam for the shore. He struggled to stay above water, still disoriented by his instant transportation from sky to roiling sea. Another wave swept him under and dragged him along the silt and vegetation choked riverbed. He kicked off the bottom with a flurry of silt and river mud, powering his way to the surface.

Given his previous location, he figured this to be the River Tear, but the Tear was usually a tranquil river until it reached the Bay of Woe near Sorn. A whirlpool halted his progress once more just as his head was about to break the surface, and he was drug back down to the riverbed. He swam into the whirlpool, using the current to propel himself to the surface. He broke the surface only to find the banks obscured by steam and the water considerably warmer. No sooner than taking his first gasping breath and the waves were upon him again.

A large wave lifted him and slammed him into a moss-covered boulder jutting from the water, knocking the air from his lungs. He gripped the mossy boulder with all his might as he struggled to regain his breath amongst the pounding surf. He cursed his father’s sense of humor as he attempted to take stock of where he was. A thought he had dismissed as absurd made its way to the foreground, the river was trying to kill him. Men who made their livings on the water oft spoke of nymphs and merfolk and made regular tributes to appease and gain their favor. Had he somehow offended one such master of this watery domain with his sudden intrusion?

Aichlan crawled atop the boulder, trying to get as much of his body out of the water as possible. He surveyed his surroundings; all he could see were walls of rapids and massive waves obscuring the banks of the river. The water level abruptly dropped several feet and grew calm in his immediate vicinity. He looked around before he finally saw it, a tidal wave in the shape of a roaring lion’s maw bearing down upon him.

* * *

Kielan waited, wishing to leave as he watched savage waves repeatedly buffet a man flailing about in a whirl. While he could not exactly just walk away and leave the man to drown, any intervention on his part would lead to an undesired encounter with the river’s maiden. He clicked his toungue and kicked at the stones, stuck between two unwanted options. Steeling himself as best he could for what awaited, he raised his palm, and launched a ball of flames into the raging river. A pillar of water instantly rose from the steam in response and gently cascaded towards the beach.

As the wave broke upon the shore, a beautiful, and very nude woman stormed forward. River flora adorned her long, bright blonde hair, accentuating her blue-green eyes. The sunlight sparkled like diamonds off the beads of water that adorned her glistening form, and a halo of rainbows surrounded her in the spay from the crashing rapids. A scowl marred her otherwise delicate features as she huffed and crossed her arms over her breasts. Kielan stared inadvertently before clearing his throat and sheepishly continuing.

“Lillea, ye look—“

Lillea shoved him in the chest, forcing him to retreat several steps. “Kielan thou loutish brute, thou salamander that doth steam mine waters and trample mine banks. Do not dare insult me with your flatteries and your feigned intentions of good.”

Her greeting and the anger that flashed in her bejeweled eyes were not exactly a shock to him; only the screams of the stranded man reminded him of why he had subjected himself to her ire. He ran his hand through his mess of brown hair before continuing reluctantly.

“My apologies, Lillea, ‘twas nae ma intention tae offend,” he offered, but his humble smile was ineffectual.

“Oh, but offend thou did!” She shoved him again, once again forcing him back. “I suppose it was not your intention to leave me with child and ne’er return or even acknowledge our midsummer’s tryst either.”

Several of the men sniggered behind him and his face grew red beneath the tattoos that adorned him. The last thing he needed was to have a love child with this woman. He struggled to maintain eye contact; though his eyes could not remain on hers for long however, they constantly drifted down to her glistening breasts heaving before him. She snapped several times in his face and sucked her teeth in annoyance to get his attention. Kielan smiled as his cheeks burned and scratched his head while looking off into the forest.

“I swear tae ye, Lillea, I had every intention o’ returning.” Kielan swatted her hand away and took a deep breath as she attempted to shove him again. “I had nae idea ye were with child.”

“Even now,” she went on, ignoring his excuses. “Your bastard child of the aethyrs prepares his javelins of light to smite the sky during Goldsun’s storms.”

His son was a lightning sprite then, not surprising as flame and water make vapor, though it did not diminish the fact that he was now bound to the nymph. He wondered where the boy was now, he could not be much older than an infant could, he should still be with his mother shouldn’t he? Kielan could only hope that his son had not inherited his mother’s temperament or mannerisms, wherever the hell he was.

“Lillea, I have wronged ye, I daen’t deny this.”

She suddenly ceased her rant at his interruption, glaring suspiciously, as she tried to discern his angle.

“I have come humbly tae seek yer forgiveness, an’ perhaps a second chance, though I am undeserving o’ one such as ye.”

Kielan choked back the bile that accompanied his bullshit. Lillea held up her nose and looked away. He held out his muscular tattooed arms for an embrace, not willing to concede defeat just yet.

“Lillea, I’ve missed ye. Please.”

Several men jeered behind him, and others set about making camp in the clearing near the tree line. Lillea paused a moment to take in his words. Stakes were hammered into the loamy soil for tents behind him as he tried his best to hide a smug grin.

“Truly?” She asked innocently.

Kielan placed his hands over his heart. “Each day without ye has been spent in agony.”

Behind him, Eth made a retching sound. He ignored him, as his ploy had the desired effect upon its target. Lillea uncrossed her arms and pawed at the ground with her foot, inching ever closer to his awaiting arms.

“Well, if you have truly suffered...”

She pretended to give the issue more thought, but he was confident he already had her on his carefully baited hook.

“Very well. All shall be forgiven if thou swear upon thine honor to pay tribute and entertain me with thy presence.”

“I…I swear,” Kielan smiled uneasily as his mind raced, already seeking ways to get out of his agreement.

Maybe I’d only have to show up every now and again he thought. Lillea was ecstatic as she giggled and clapped her hands. She leapt into his arms and smothered him with kisses before turning her attentions back to the river.

“Good!” She smiled sweetly and she clapped her hands once, abandoning her archaic dialect. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to kill this man.”

Kielan reached out to her as she turned her attentions back to the river. “Wait!”

“Hmm?” She glanced back at him over her shoulder, slightly annoyed at the interruption.

“I’m jus’ curious, what crime has this man committed against ye?”

A wave picked Aichlan up and slammed him into a boulder as they spoke.

“Some battle occurred at the Arlien Fort. The victor had the audacity to pollute my waters with the corpses of the slain! Just when I thought I’d gotten the last of them, he shows up.”

More waves bombarded the man, growing in intensity with her rising frustration.

“But as ye yerself have said this man is nae corpse. Look!” He shouted as he pointed to the man who had crawled atop the boulder. “Even now he struggles!”

Lillea pouted as she icily watched the struggling man. “Yes. It is quite annoying.”

Kielan stepped forward and caressed her bare shoulders. She cooed and shivered at the sudden warmth against her icy shoulders.

“Please, let him come ashore.”

She stepped away and angrily turned to face Kielan. “And why the bloody hell would I do that?”

He ignored the outburst and caressed her icy cheek. She nuzzled against the warmth and closed her eyes, nearly melting in his hands.

“Oooh…that’s warm…” She continued to nuzzle before she abruptly leapt away.

“No.” She waved her hand across the water, creating a tidal wave in the shape of a roaring lions head. “He must die.”

With that, she set the wave after the man. He pushed past her and shot a wall of flame before the wave. The wave crashed against the wall of fire and dissolved into a hissing cloud of steam that washed over the man and flowed onto the banks. Lillea spun to face Kielan and pounded upon his muscular and heavily inked chest. Her blue-green eyes flashed with rage like a maniac.

“What the bloody hell’d you do that for you stupid fucking elf!”

“I wanna speak tae him,” he replied flatly.

“Oooh! Thou traitorous elf! I should ne’er have believed a word to have slid from thine serpent tongue!”

Kielan sighed and massaged his temples with the thumb and middle finger of a calloused hand as she impotently beat upon his chest. Though her archaic speech was cute, particularly when she was angry, he had no time to argue with her. The man was likely to drown soon and he was truly curious by this point. At the very least, he did not wish to have this encounter be for naught.

“Lillea, bring him tae shore.”

She spat a jet of water into his face. “Sod off, Kielan.”

Weary of her defiance, and in no mood for further patronizing her, he grabbed her roughly by the wrist and pulled her towards him. Steam rose from her delicate wrists as she beat against his chest and struggled to break free as a toddler having a tantrum.

“Unhand me, you cur! You—you—you… newt!”

He leaned in close and lowered his tone, mimicking her archaic speech. “Lest ye be reduced tae a roiling cloud o’ vapor, bring tha’ man tae shore.”

“You wouldn’t…”

Even as she spoke, she appeared unsure of whether he would or not. Kielan subtly raised the heat, and as more steam rose from her wrist, she leaned more towards he would.

“Aye, I will…” he replied with a sinister smirk, and as if to prove a point, he launched several fireballs into the water, bringing the affected area to an instant boil.

Horrified, Lillea quickly relented, and Aichlan unceremoniously washed to shore along with several steamed river trout. Kielan released Lillea, who muttered and rubbed the tender skin. He did not intend to make good on any of his threats; however, it was often the only way to get through to her. He glanced back at her to be sure she was unharmed, already she had put her hand into water and the skin had grown anew. He next turned his attention to Aichlan.

He studied Aichlan’s back with curious fascination, the water had washed away most of the blood and grime, but his uniform was still torn and badly stained with numerous wounds visible beneath the tattered mail.

“You see! All that fuss over a corpse! I hate you, Kielan.”

He ignored her and reached down to flip Aichlan over. The front was no better than the back. He was certain he could see the man’s organs and bones through the stab wounds and deep lacerations that marred his body.

“Hmm. A handsome corpse, but corpse nonetheless,” Lillea conceded.

Aichlan coughed and sputtered, startling both of them.

“He’s still alive. Daen’t see how though…” Kielan muttered in surprise.

* * *

A beautiful nude woman ringed in light greeted Aichlan upon opening his eyes as a warm mist swirled around him. Whatever mission Garrick had planned for him was short-lived, as he had died, again—this time reaching the land of the Dawn. Just as well he thought.

He beckoned weakly for the woman ringed in light to come closer, and she obliged with a puzzled expression. When she was close enough, he reached up and cupped her breast with his bandaged hand while locking his lips with her own. He was pleased to find that even in death he felt her softness and tasted her lips. He hoped all women of Elysium were as lovely as her.

Shock followed by outrage filled Lillea’s eyes as she struck him hard across the face and quickly stepped away, red-faced. Behind him, someone burst into laughter. His head still spinning, he tried to sit up, only to find the tip of a massive blade. He looked up at the muscular, shirtless elf who wielded it; geometric tattoos covered his torso and arms. He had a boyish look about him, and a devil may care grin on his lips. His bark brown hair fell past his shoulders, but his most striking feature were his cold, unflinching eyes, bright amber like topaz, the eyes of a seasoned warrior.

“You saw him! He tried to rape me! Kill that bastard, Kielan!”

Aichlan ignored the hysterical woman, who he thought should not have been nude in the first place, and pushed the sword away trying to stand again. An oversized carving knife of a sword quickly replaced it at his neck from behind. Fed up, he raised his hands in reluctant surrender.

“I give man! Get that bloody thing outta my face!”

Aichlan took a quick survey of his surroundings, pausing on the nude woman. Catching his gaze, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned her back to him. He could not hold back the grin, as both were remarkable views, and was surprised to see the big elf grinning as well. Sheathing his sword, he offered Aichlan a hand up, which he gladly took.

“Believe ye me, mate, it’s nae worth tha trouble.”

Aichlan stood to examine his hosts or captors as the case may be. The women wore leather or animal skin bikini tops with leather aprons. The men went topless and both wore baggy canvas trousers in various earthen hues, all were barefoot and adorned in tribal tattoos and too many piercings. Their long-pointed ears swept back and slightly out like that of jackrabbits, jutting from their wild manes. All had bulging biceps and clearly defined abdominals, like the gladiators and athletes of the Elysian Colosseum and their statuary. The one who helped him up was a particularly hulking man; Aichlan made a mental note not to get in a fistfight with that one. He had put his sword, if the slab of sharpened iron could be called a sword, away and attempted to console the nude woman.

The elf behind Aichlan sheathed his massive blade behind his back and spat at his feet. While equally youthful in appearance, his countenance was far more grizzled; his was a face that bore the weight of the world, a weight he proudly bore. A thick scar covered his left eye, which ran from forehead to jaw. He wore the look of a man angry at the world, with aggressive symbols inked upon his neck and over his dead eye. His hair, tied up in a loose knot, fell past his shoulders and was the color of silver ore; his good eye was the color of an emerald.

The elf offered Aichlan an obscene gesture upon catching his lingering gaze. “An’ what d’ya think yer lookin’ at, eh?”

The big elf with the brown hair clasped Aichlan by the shoulder, who winced at the impact upon his axe wound. His knees went weak and he nearly collapsed, but the big elf effortlessly lifted him back to his feet.

“Daen’t ye be mindin' Eth now, lad. He’s a real stick in the fanny more oft ‘an nae.” The elf motioned for the camp. “Now why daen’t ye be joinin' us an warmin' by the fire.”

Despite being a question, it struck Aichlan more as a command than anything, even with the jovial smile and crude though humorous metaphor. What struck him most was their odd manner of speech, though insistently familiar to the common tongue of his home, it was different. Before he could respond, the brown-haired Elf was leading him towards the campsite.

“The name’s Kielan, m’boy. What’s yer handle ‘en?”

Aichlan could not remember his own name for a moment, everything was happening so fast. He tried to take a step and his vision blurred as he held his throbbing head. He felt nauseous and weak in the knees as Kielan placed his heavy hand upon his wounded shoulder once more. Here he was, vulnerable and disoriented with a race of half-nude warriors, and he had no idea what their intentions were.

“It’s–uh–Aichlan. My name is Aichlan of Westfaire Towers. I fought—”

He collapsed, falling into Kielan’s arms, quickly recovering as he fought the feeling of rising vomit. He pushed himself away, determined to stand upon his own two feet.

Kielan laughed heartily at Aichlan’s confusion. “Are ye sure ‘bout that now?”

“Yes. Aichlan, Knight in the Order of the Dawn. It’s a pleasure.”