Empty bottles rolled around the bottom of the boat. Alexander didn’t know if it was day or night. Layers of gloom rose over them, the mist obscured what the branches did not. The water was a perfect mirror of the foliage above, marred only by the occasional slithering tail of creatures unseen.
Ruskin had been the only one to make a sound in two days, or was it three?
The banshees do not scream, they listen. Say nothing you would not sell your life for. Tlaso’s translated warning rang in Alexander’s mind.
The air contained weight, presence and memory. It took effort to draw it into his lungs, and once there, it told complex stories. ‘Odor’ did not honor the lively effect of growth and decay in a breath.
Riley never stopped rowing, arms like pistons pumping. The splash of the oars echoed off the trees. Alexander watched the ripples expand after the boat. Low trees dripped with moss. It tickled his face as they glided under. His neck seized with the sensation. Dodging would overbalance the boat. The moss left damp streaks on his face that he had long since stopped wiping away.
I gestured to her once to take over, surely that’s enough.
He picked at the empty bottles.
Not a drop, nothing. Shaking hands, not a good sign.
The rudder moved under his tremor, and he weaved Riley’s power through the winding path of water. The tangled branches grabbed at the boat, the roots beneath like cages. Out of the corner of his vision, eyes watched, hiding at his glance.
A high tenor sang, “Hullaboo, hullaboo, I see you! Hullaboo, hullaboo…”
The oars stopped. Riley gestured at him with her hand, waving and then holding her finger to her lips.
He tried to answer with his expression.
My eyes are as wide as they’ve ever been. In the cave they failed me, but they might as well put in some work now.
He pointed at himself, and then made a cross in the air and pointed out into the water.
She locked the oars and moved her hand to her sword at her side. He sidled closer to her, leaning over the narrow bench.
Ruskin seemed unconcerned, not a bark, not a growl. Alexander stared at his dog in the bow. Ruskin’s nose and raised paw pointed towards their goal. East.
Thinks he’s the captain, I suppose. Better him than me.
She drew her sword, and Alexander caught her attention. He pointed at the sword and let his wrist fall limp.
She tightened her grip. He rolled his eyes.
Whatever is out in that mist, I don’t think that’s going to work. I hope it makes you feel better.
The haze over the water began to coalesce. It grew dense and a form rose from it. The mass began singing, “Hullaboo, hullaboo, I see you! Hullaboo, hullaboo.”
I think I put a little more effort than that into my songs. Sounds reedy.
The figure on the water added, with rippling recall, “Well, look, if you don’t like it, I don’t know if I should keep going.”
Riley lowered the sword, and stared at him. She wasn’t looking at the shapes forming over the water, she was looking at him like she wanted to stab him.
Oh sure, stab me with the sword I made you.
Alexander said, “Riley, calm down, it’s a trick.”
She pushed him and he fell back into the stern. Her finger was at her lip, extended from the hilt of her clenched sword. She waved her free hand in a cutting gesture.
Right, don’t talk.
His voice rang out of the mist, distorted and a little whinier than he thought necessary. “Riley, calm down, it’s a trick.”
The figure made of mist dripped airily across the still water and the sound of children’s mocking laughter rang just on the edge of hearing.
Riley sheathed the sword and moved back to the oars. Alexander examined the empty bottles again. They were a disappointment.
We are all disappointments. That seems to be the one truth in this swamp.
He took a pull from a water skin before putting his hand back on the tiller.
“Second blood.” A young man’s voice that Alexander did not recognize. He whipped his head around, and in Riley’s line of sight, shimmering forms dueled. He turned back to her, she was working the oars harder.
The dueling figures kept the same distance, just off the stern.
Riley’s voice. “You need three to win.” Alexander’s eyes were glued to the battle unfolding in grey fog.
The boy Riley’s doppelgänger was fighting took a few steps back. The Riley facsimile smiled and dropped the shield she was holding with her right hand.
Riley is not left-handed.
The boy’s eyes followed the shield and so did Alexander’s. Step, step, step. Fog Riley closed with him and stopped short. She feinted. Even Alexander could tell it was a feint. But the misty boy fell for it, and she grabbed his wrist. They tumbled to the water and she slashed his throat with her shimmering sword as they fell. His neck opened silver.
Riley’s voice, solid and surprising. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
Alexander spun to look at her and watched Ruskin jump back from the oncoming tree roots. A wooden grinding halted their movement and threw Alexander off the bench. His knees landed between the bottles.