“And Air?” Rogger asked as he knelt beside the boat, examining one of the paddles. He ran a hand along its double-hulled side. The alchemies ran between the hulls.
She had seen Rogger test it under the guidance of a squat Wyr-man, one of the few survivors. The thief was to be their pilot. None of the Wyr could venture where they intended to travel, to where seersong bent the will of those Graced. Like Eylan, they would be easily captured by the song. Even Krevan had to be left here under Calla’s care. He would be a threat once within earshot of seersong.
They readied to leave.
Tylar clasped Krevan’s good shoulder. His other was cross-wrapped in a large bandage. Dart had learned that the pirate owed his life to his Wyr heritage. Krevan had been born without a heart. Through his veins ran a living blood, a blood that had refused to flow out those same veins when his arm had been cleaved away. Still, he would need time and rest to heal.
Tylar turned to the pirate’s swordmate. “Keep him safe, Calla, until we return.”
“I will,” she said sternly.
Malthumalbaen helped push the flitterskiff off the bank and into the water. It had sat rather crooked in the sand, a rough landing by Rogger, but it was his first attempt.
The giant held the boat for Brant and Dart to climb aboard. Brant gave her a hand, and they found a bench near the front. The skiff was large enough to hold a good dozen. So they had plenty of room, even with a giant on board.
Rogger hopped in and crossed to the bow, where foot pedals and a wheel sat before a scooped wooden seat. He sank into it, rubbing his palms.
Tylar left Krevan’s side and splashed into the water. Grabbing the starboard rail, he struggled a bit, confounded by a bad leg. Malthumalbaen helped him with a push on his backside. Tylar straightened once aboard, his cheeks slightly flushed.
With the sword at his belt, Tylar certainly did seem somewhat more solid of foot-but he still hobbled. While Rogger had learned to wield the flitterskiff, Tylar had tested his new sword. It would be best to know its abilities before venturing into unknown territories.
Applying a bit of force, he found the black diamond could be removed from the pommel, but once free, the sword’s blade vanished, and the stone returned again to black rock, both snuffed out. The attempt disturbed them all, especially when Tylar gasped as his body crumbled into further ruin. Still, it took only another drop of Dart’s blood to ignite the stone and feed it back to the pommel. The gold melted over it hungrily, and the silver blade sprouted anew. Tylar’s body also straightened a bit.
Not much, but enough.
But Dart had overheard him with Rogger. The poison still spreads. Some poison born of Chrism’s blood. The sword and stone may stave it off somewhat, but I can feel my bones’ ache leaching outward.
Another reason for haste.
The gift of the flitterskiff was gladly accepted. It would speed them where they needed to go. They also had the Wyr maps and knew the straightest path to an island deep out in the flooded forest, where the rogues were snared.
The Wyr maps were vital.
The flooded forest was a maze of soggy hillocks, slower mossy mires, rocky outcroppings, flat expanses of open water, and twisting currents within the larger breadth of the floodwaters.
Tylar limped to Rogger’s side. He leaned on the back of the chair.
“Are you sure you won’t run us straight into a tree?”
Rogger glanced back. “Do you mean I’m supposed to avoid those?”
The boat suddenly rocked. The bow’s nose rose as Malthumalbaen clambered aboard. He looked ill at ease. The flitterskiff was all air and water. Born of loam, he looked little comforted by this means of travel. Or maybe he had witnessed Rogger’s bobbling struggle with the strange craft out in the water.
Malthumalbaen sprawled in the skiff’s stern, filling the space, one hand on each rail.
With everyone aboard, Tylar took the bench behind Rogger and pointed forward.
“Let’s go.”
“Hold tight!” Rogger twisted a knob to open the flow of alchemies.
The seat vibrated under Dart’s rear. She peeked over the rail as the paddles began to beat, churning water, wafting them forward. Then they beat faster and faster, blurring away. The force of the churn drove them forward- then up. The skiff rose to the tips of its fluttering paddles, lifting the keel free from the drag of the water. Unfettered, the craft sped like its namesake: the flitterfly. It buzzed over the water, skimming the surface with its paddles.
They raced faster than a horse could gallop.
Leaning close, Rogger took care to keep an eye on the trees. As directed by the Wyr-man, he stuck to the flattest water, avoiding rocks and floating logs with careful turns of the wheel.
“Do you have to go so skaggin’ fast?” Malthumalbaen groaned.
Rogger called back. “While we’ve got clear water, I’m burning alchemy. But according to that Wyr-master of the boat, we’ll be wishing for open water before we reach this island.”
Tylar shifted forward, speaking in Rogger’s ear. Dart could not make out his words, but from all the pointing, Tylar was directing Rogger’s path as keenly as possible in this watery wood.
Dart sat back. Her hand rested in Brant’s. She hadn’t planned to put it there, but there it was. They watched the passing hinterlands together. The moons had appeared again as the rains ended and the clouds blew apart. The greater moon had joined her sister, casting enough light off the water to see fairly well.
But strange luminescences glowed in the dark. Glittering green mosses appeared, like those in the dry wood, and also red shining molds on tree trunks, and glowing yellow puffs that exploded out at them as they passed.
But beauty in the hinterlands also hid horror.
“Don’t breathe any of that,” Rogger warned, nodding at the glowing puffs. “It sets in your lungs and births worms that will eat their way out.”
Dart sank lower in her seat, glad now for the craft’s speed.
Still, the Wyr-master proved right. Within half a bell, the trees grew closer and closer, bunching around them. Rogger was forced to slow. Their keel sank back to the water as the alchemies were trimmed.
Their speed remained swift, but not the maddened flight of before.
Rogger sped them through the thickening woods. As the trees grew closer, the way darkened. Rogger circled around one of the spars of rock that jutted out of the landscape. Here the waters grew sluggish as the currents of the floodwaters eddied around the pinnacle. Thick rafts of algae and weed choked the slower waters and stifled the paddles.
They were forced to proceed no faster than a man could row, lest they risk breaking some of the paddles.
And still the trees grew taller, the canopy thicker, blocking all moonlight.
Tylar lit a small torch to check his map.
“I could use one of those up front,” Rogger griped. “I can barely see past my nose, let alone this pointy bow.”
Brant squeezed Dart’s hand and let go. “I’ll do it,” he said and scooted down the bench.
He collected one of the larger torches, lit it off of Tylar’s brand, and moved forward to join Rogger. Brant steadied himself with a hand on the port rail and held the torch high. The firelight stretched across the water.
Able to see, Dart glanced up. The canopy overhead was draped with giant striped vines. The firelight played along their bellies, making them seem to shift and slide. Then a scaled head snaked down out of the twist, hissing to reveal fangs as long as her outstretched hand.
The firelight stirred others, warming their scales.
Dart squeaked in alarm, sliding off her seat to the planks below.
Other eyes noted what roosted in their rafters. One of the serpents uncoiled and slid out of the tangle, crashing to the boat’s center with a writhe of muscles, as thick around as Dart’s leg.