Naia’s boots squished on the ground as she walked across the cursed swamp. The swamp itself wasn’t cursed, but the city that lay beneath it was. Nobody scavenged here for fear of ghosts or beasts. Or Avirin’s retribution, if you believed he existed, she thought. The muddy ground disguised the tops of buildings, remnants of an age long past. Naia splashed reddish-brown mud on her trousers as she trudged toward a particularly promising cluster of buildings.
The red mud saturated everything in this city. The buildings were submerged in the thick sludge, years upon years of deposition from the Flood. The mud piled higher than the flat rooftops by a few inches, disguising the city as a swamp. A treacherous swamp to the unsuspecting visitor.
Naia trotted through the center of the mudflats, eyes flitting between the ground and the exposed buildings up ahead. She had trekked up to the city a handful of times, but her last trip was fresh in her mind. She had been scavenging on the eastern side of the city when she fell into a flooded building full of blood spores. She had barely made it back to town before collapsing from the blood loss.
Today, she was extra careful. She knew what to look for, the shallow dimples over roofs, the streaks in the mud. Streaks were the safest place to walk, trails left by the fleeing Flood. Or by sympathetic ghosts.
Perhaps the reason folks thought that the city was cursed was from its lack of flora. All across the open marsh, Naia could only see patches of redweed and the occasional stalk of waterwort. Nothing dangerous, not from the plants at least. Hopefully she wouldn’t find anything dangerous today. To her left and right, a forest of waterwort enclosed the city, a dense wall of fibrous straws. It looked like it kept people in, instead of keeping people out. But waterwort was too flimsy to keep anyone anywhere.
She passed an exposed building, filled with murky water. It was a large, fifty foot square, bigger than any house Naia had seen. Whoever lived in the city must have been rich. Or maybe space was abundant before the Flood. It didn’t matter now.
Her shadow passed over the brown water, covering the glare and giving her a glimpse into the hazy darkness. Something flashed under the surface. Maybe. Maybe not. It was probably nothing.
To her, this city represented hope. Not the hope that normal people have. Not the hope to be someone great, who has a powerful destiny. Not that hope. That hope was foolish. Nor was it the hope of success, to change society in a meaningful way. That hope was also foolish, but for a more tragic reason.
No, Naia’s hope was the hope of a poor girl who had expended all other options, who just wanted to eat. It was a gambler’s hope, a hope that she would find something she could trade for dinner. And this city was her last option.
She was a scavenger. She foraged for roots, reeds, and trinkets lost in the Flood. She often found something here. Last time was fishing hooks. The time before was rusty belt buckles. It wasn’t much, but they were usually worth a loaf of bread. Anything metal was valuable to Master Hayward, even if it was rusty.
Now she was on her last loaf of bread, having split one with Wulgrun this morning.
Naia focused on the larger buildings across the swamp. These structures rested at the foot of a steep slope, the walls jutting out of the hillside. These buildings were taller than the others, or at least their shapes stretched higher. The old walls were barely visible amidst the reddish-brown muck, faint bricks outlining its edges.
She imagined the city as it would have been in its glory days, wide arrays of stone buildings, spires that pierced the sky. People shouting in the streets between buildings. They were laughing. Some were arguing.
From her handful of trips to the cursed city, she had developed a decent picture of the landscape. She was on the southern side, where it was mostly flat. The city limit wasn’t far behind her, right up against downslope. The hill in front of her wrapped all the way from the west to the east, with a gash on the western side. The fissure guarded a path that led up to the western clefts, where the buildings were elevated, carved into the sides of a great canyon.
The buildings increased in size the closer to the center they became. It was easier to tell on the eastern side of the giant hill. She had never climbed the hill, not successfully at least, but she could see verdant growth at the top. The hill covered the center of the city, hiding the biggest secrets. Naia only got the smallest glimpse of ancient history. It was more than most people knew.
The buildings that she was approaching must have been uncovered recently, hopefully in the Pull fourteen days ago. She hadn’t seen them last time, though it had been a few cycles. She liked the taller buildings. Though she couldn’t explain it, they tended to be dry inside. Dry meant treasure. A set of sewing pins, or a tin water canister. Maybe a set of stone tools, if she was lucky. If there was any moisture inside, all she would find was dust.
Once, the fear of ghosts kept her from the city. Well, fear of Mother. Mother threatened to beat her to drippings if she came home with a curse. Or if she came home at all. Mother was afraid of the ancient city. Drunk Mother was terrified of ghosts.
Mother wasn’t interested in providing for Naia and Wulgrun. She traded her wages for alcohol, or sometimes angel pollen. Mother was addicted to getting drunk, Father was addicted to getting high. Only her brother loved her, so she gathered only for him. In trade, he took their parents’ anger, suffering as the scapegoat. Really only Mother’s anger, but it was a fair trade, in Naia’s opinion.
One of the first times that Naia had come home from the cursed city, Wulgrun had claimed that he had gone in her stead. Mother had been so drunk and angry that she tore off part of the wall to beat him.
Naia sighed, not wanting to think about the past. Right now, she needed to find something to trade for food. Her stomach growled at her. Half a loaf of bread wasn’t enough for a trek to the ancient city. Half a loaf of bread wasn’t enough for anything. Hopefully Wulgrun had made enough today at the tar factory. It didn’t pay very much, but it would be something.
Naia had gotten kicked out of the factory for misdemeanors and insolence. Curse them, she thought. It hadn’t always been her flooding fault! The last time the tar barrels spilled was because they hadn’t been sealed properly, not because she had knocked them over. It had cost Puko a fortune, or so he had said. None of them even had a fortune to lose.
The hucum farmers didn’t want her either, but she didn’t know why. Maybe Puko had warned them against her. Flooding glet.
She hesitated. Something was wrong with the buildings. Naia was close enough now to see a large crack splitting the bricks, wide enough for a person to get through. She wiped her sweaty forehead, pushing back her long locks of black hair. The sun was past noon, but there were no clouds to give her shade.
She crept forward, confused. The break in the wall didn’t look like a result of the Pull. The Pull dragged the water away calmly. Relatively calmly, when compared to the Flood. But how could the Pull break a crevice in the clay wall? And if it was the Flood, the whole wall would be destroyed.
Naia sidled up next to the crack in the wall's surface, peering into the dark room. The light shone in the crack, lighting a pile of rotten pulp and clay chunks below. If there had been a second story in this building, it was long gone. She could see nothing else in the darkness.
Darkness was darker for Naia than for most people. For everyone else, their eyes adjusted to the low light levels, making dark things bright, and bright things blinding. But for Naia, her eyes didn’t do that. They never had. She had the same brown eyes as everyone else in town, save for Wulgrun. She was simply cursed. For her, when a room was dark, it was black. Pitch black like the bullfrogs in the south. Taren said he’d met someone with a similar condition before. He called it “night blindness.” The name rang true.
She took off her sac, sitting next to the gap. It was a crude bag, just a few pieces of cloth sewed together. It had a cloth strap for each shoulder, though they had been replaced many times. Naia unwound the small cord that tied the opening shut. She dug her hand in, pulling out a small blazeroot. She was running low on blazeroot as well.
The root was a pale white knot of little fingers, like a ginger. Little black hairs dotted the skin of the blazeroot, the beginning of new growths. She pinched one of these, twisting as quickly as she could. It tore off, leaving a small red dot. The dot expanded and grew, lighting the whole root on fire. It would light the room for about fifteen minutes, before burning out.
Naia lightly tossed her bag through the gap, down to the room below. She dropped the blazeroot down next, then squeezed herself through the gap. She turned, clutching the muddy ledge with both hands and lowering herself to the floor. She dropped the last foot to the stone floor. The gap wasn’t far from the floor, maybe seven feet. Close enough for her to jump and grab the ledge to get out.
Her feet landed in a small puddle, splashing the wall with brown water. A couple puddlings scampered away in the darkness. The slimy creatures were cute, pumping their four stubby legs as fast as they could. They were short and brown, with no tail. All their features were bulbous and round, like spheres. Their oily skin was patterned like a web of water droplets, merging into one another. The puddlings skittered out of sight. The blazeroot only lit so much, especially for Naia’s impaired vision. A couple puddlings weren’t dangerous, so long as there were no floodlings. She did not want to meet one of those beasts.
The room wasn’t very wide, only a dozen feet across. It was the same reddish-brown clay wall. The bricks were large, longer than her forearm. To Naia’s left, the room continued a ways, but she couldn’t tell how far. She could only see about ten feet, but the echoes of fleeing creatures continued much farther.
To her right, there loomed an ancient altar. An enormous face protruded from the wall, mouth and eyes open. Its hair was long and flowy, similar to underwater redweed. The face’s expression was angry, like it was yelling at someone. It looked like a woman, but that was just a guess.
Naia’s heart pounded in her head, excited and terrified. What was this place? She had never come across religious artifacts of the past, let alone a shrine. Or whatever this was. Virinism was the only religion she knew, but she didn’t believe in that silt. Everyone bent their knee to the Flood.
The menacing visage scared her, but the mystery drove her forward. This wasn’t just a thousand-year-old relic, but a glimpse into the past. Who was this god? Who worshiped them? She tiptoed around the crumbling pile of decay to get a closer look, her boots scraping against the ground.
A steady drip thundered in the room. She stepped over to the mouth of the altar, which was so big that it could have engulfed her. It had lost a couple teeth over the past millennia, which was shockingly few. The carved face was made entirely of tarnished bronze, and its eyes glittered emerald green. Can I get one of those jewels out? she wondered. They would be worth a fortune. But the emeralds were embedded underneath a layer of metal, revealed only by a small hole.
Between the locks of hair, Naia spotted a landscape etched into the metal. It was an ocean, with ships sailing and winds blowing. She traced her finger along the lines, feeling the deep gouges.
Naia gasped, covering her mouth. By the roil! She gagged as she saw two bodies laying in the corner, one covered in bright orange blood. One was human, its misty blood had settled on the floor and walls. The other was a strange creature, its blood oddly liquid. She had never come across a body before in all of her adventures. Especially not two, nor one this exotic.
She stepped closer, examining the figures. The creature had blue skin, with fins running up and down its limbs. The skin on its face was stretched, like a small blanket over a tall man. Its hair was not hair, but rather small red branches, sticking straight out of its scalp. It was wearing tattered clothes, stained with its orange blood. Its lanky arms were clamped by a metal claw, the large steel teeth piercing its skin. A spring trap. Some of the other scavengers used them to catch birds and the like. In its bloody, webbed hands, the creature clutched a sword. A dirty, yet rust-free sword.
The man who lay next to the creature was short with a big beard. He had tan, leathery skin, much like her own, from many years spent in the sun. His clothes looked like they were torn long before whatever fight these two had. He was probably some sort of sailor who landed here by accident. Pour soul. May the Flood carry his spirit onward. His blood had already settled on the walls. Vaporous blood usually stayed in the air for about a couple hours, before sinking to the ground.
Whatever happened between the two, their injuries were fresh. The bodies hadn’t been here very long, certainly not buried here for thousands of years. Naia didn’t know what to do. Her instincts told her to leave, but that was a waste of an opportunity. Her people refused to loot corpses, and for good reason. A corpse could carry a curse with it, or its ghost might become an ill-favored companion.
But the creature wasn’t exactly a corpse, was it? It certainly wasn’t human. She heard legends of the Bashian creatures, who lived underwater. Was this one? She inched forward, determined to grab the sword before she left. One this nice would get her and Wulgrun both food for half a cycle. That was valuable during the Highwaters. She wouldn’t be on the brink of death, desperately trying to find a slider to eat.
Naia was terrible at fishing. Wulgrun was better, but neither were very lucky. During the fifteen days of the Highwaters, there was no scavenging, farming, or working in the factory. The hucum tar factory was just south of town, by the farms, and its components were too heavy to float. The two of them had to stockpile food before each Flood. Even when she was hungry, she didn’t want to eat a slider.
Sliders were basically large snails with no shell. They grew from chitin on the underside of the town during the highwaters. They were easy to grab, but eating them made her sick. Eating them made everyone sick. It was always stomach cramps, a mild fever, and a nasty headache. It was enough to make life miserable. Well, more miserable.
With this sword, or even with the spring trap, Wulgrun and she wouldn’t have to worry. The Flood was tonight. Good timing for a great find. She grabbed the end of the sword. She could…
The creature twitched. Its arm shifted, and its eyes opened. Pale green eyes, like a shark. The pupil wasn’t quite the shape of a human's eye, but not a slit either. It was a small black square, with rounded corners and a faint glimmer of life.
Naia scrambled backward, dropping the sword. Her mind was racing. Has it noticed me yet? Its eyes seemed unfocused, jumping around the room. She crouched, trying to use the soggy debris as cover. She slowly crept around it. The creature continued to stir, gurgling from its mouth. More of its liquid blood dripped from between its purple lips, mixing with the puddle on its chest.
Then its eyes met hers.
“Have you come to take the key?” it said in a raspy voice. It coughed, spewing ichor and water across its chin.
Naia said nothing.
“You’ll never find the king's bloodline! Every town you raid is proof of your madness,” the creature spat. Naia didn’t understand. King’s bloodline?
It tried to stand, but its leg was badly broken at the shin, the webbed foot pointed backward. Its toes were long, like fingers, and there were only four of them. It tried to use its arms for balance, but they were restrained. It collapsed back to the ground, gasping in pain. Naia was about to run for the crevice, but she paused. What about the sword? Half a cycle of meals made her stomach growl. The creature’s eyes refocused on her.
“Wait, you're just a girl!” It coughed again, orange blood spraying out this time. Liquid blood. That still baffled her. “Please help me!”
Again, Naia said nothing. What should she say? What could she say?
“I’m not going to hurt you. I just—I want to feel my hands again!” The creature's face looked agonized. She almost wanted to feel pity on it. Almost.
“What did you do to this man?” she demanded. She certainly didn’t want to free it if it would kill her too.
“He tried to capture me. Thinks I’m valuable or something. He got the clamp on before…” It gestured with the sword. It was a weak gesture, its hands barely able to lift it. It winced from the motion.
“Why should I help you? You still killed him, didn’t you? What even are you anyway?” she asked, curiosity getting the best of her. Besides, she might still be able to snag that sword.
“He was hardly innocent. Can’t you see what he did to me? Not to mention his quest to destroy the world.”
Naia stifled a laugh. “Destroy the world? How?”
"They're trying to claim the power of an old god, one who rules the Flood. What would happen if you never knew when the Flood was coming?” The creature hacked up another bout of gooey coughs. He began to wheeze, inhaling quick, shallow breaths.
Naia hesitated. The Flood came at a regular interval every cycle. Fourteen days of land, then the Flood. Fourteen days of sea, then the Pull. Tang was well prepared each cycle. They knew how much time they had to patch the rafts, wall the farms, and mend the ropes. If they didn’t know when it was coming, would they be able to adapt?
But how could someone control the roiling Flood!?! That was a ridiculous goal, especially for a sailor. Or a pirate, if he was raiding towns.
“How did you know about his plan?”
“So many questions,” the creature sighed. “Are you planning on freeing my arms or not?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Decide quickly!” it demanded, growing frantic. “I might still survive, but I certainly won’t like this.” Naia bit her lip. She had no idea how strong this thing was. Would it try to kill her?
“First, give me your sword.”
It sighed again, pushing the sword forward. It scraped against the ground, carving a line in the layer of dirt. She crept forward, not taking her eyes off of the creature. It stared back, its eyes displaying its agony. It coughed again, spraying droplets of blood onto Naia’s outstretched hand. She whipped her hand back, wiping it on her trousers. Yuck!
She grabbed the tip off the sword again, pulling it toward her. She stood, taking hold of the sword by its handle and pointing it at the creature.
“I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you,” it whined. Nevermind what it had said, Naia still didn’t trust it. “You are still going to undo the clamp, right?”
“You gotta answer a few questions first.”
“I already did!”
“You said something about him raiding towns. What was that about?”
“He’s part of a band of pirates who are looking for the old Bashian emperor. Do you know anything about that?” Perhaps this creature was a Bashian. Naia didn’t remember what the legends described. They weren’t very clear, anyway.
“No.” Why would she? Her town, Tang, was in the middle of nowhere. The ruling nation of Dayron was to the northeast, Lord Rozanne was lord over her town. Tang often had visitors from other nations, but none were from the Bashian empire. It was just a legend. There was no Bashian empire, especially not one with strange creatures and a king in her town.
“Well, I’m sorry for you, then. They’ll take your stuff and maybe kill a couple of you for not being cooperative. I imagine your town won’t be if they're anything like you.”
“When?”
“Let me out first, then I’ll tell you.” Dregs, he’s sly. Gave her enough information to need to know more, then bargained with it. Naia bit her lip again.
“Fine, but you have to promise not to run away,” she said.
“You think I can run away with this leg?” She glared at the blue creature. “Fine! I swear it.”
“How do I get you out? You said something about a key.” She didn’t move any closer.
"No, no. There's a ratchet on the bottom that loads the device. If you crank it, it will free me."
Naia shifted forward, doing her best to keep the sword pointed at the creature, but she had to put it down to fiddle with the metal snare. The creature wasn't doing much to help, having no strength left in his arms. Naia lifted its long arms up on her shoulder, accidentally smearing orange blood on her brown tunic. She brushed her fingers along the bottom of the trap, feeling for the ratchet. The entire apparatus was coated in blood, and before long her hands were drenched. She found the crank handle—a small, flat bar—and started winding.
It was discomforting kneeling so close to a dead man. She glanced over more than once to see cold eyes staring at her. She shivered. If she touched him, his spirit would cling to her, tormenting her for helping his enemy.
Naia tried not to think about it, winding the ratchet underneath the creature's arms. The creature was shrieking in pain. It started thrashing, and Naia kept losing her grip on the ratchet. Her fingers were covered in blood.
More than once, she questioned herself, not entirely convinced that freeing the creature was the best move. It was in so much pain! Opening the spring trap seemed to be doing more harm than good.
Yet it had promised to tell her the pirates' plans. She needed to know what they were. The ratchet mechanism clicked in her fingers as she wound it, and the claws slowly released their grip on the blue creature’s arms.
As the spring trap released, more and more blood gushed out of its wounded arms. It covered her arms and formed a puddle around her knees. The creature was gasping for ragged breaths, and its eyes glazed over.
Naia pulled the trap off of its arms, setting it aside with a clatter. On what little skin was showing, she saw criss-crossing cuts on its forearms. In a few places, chunks of flesh flopped over, leaving large cavities in its skin. She stood, picking the sword back up.
“Now, when do the pirates plan on raiding my town?” she demanded again. Was the creature going to survive? She started to worry that it wouldn’t be able to answer her questions.
“Soon. I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve been unconscious. They will plunder you before the Flood,” it said, its voice barely audible. The poor thing was starting to fade.
Naia’s eyes widened. She knew that the flood was only hours away. Enough time for her to walk back to camp, but only barely. And if the pirates were planning on attacking today, then they would be there soon.
She snatched the spring trap off the ground, dashing back to her sac. She stuffed the mechanism into the cloth bag, then jammed the sword in, hilt first. The blade stuck out the top, so she tied the sac closed around it. I hope it doesn’t come loose. She didn’t want the sword flying out of place and slicing her. She swung the bag around, sliding her arms into the straps.
"Wait!" it cried, coughing. It was fumbling with its torn jacket, trying to fish something out of the pocket, but its arms were shaking. It was exerting every effort it had just to move its finger. She frowned, ready to jump for the ledge.
“Take this," it rasped, pulling its hand out of its pocket and pushing something toward her. Its arm flopped against its leg, limp. It wasn’t coughing anymore. Was that a good sign? "Take this key. It’s extremely valuable, and the pirates are looking for it. Don’t let them find it."
"If it's so valuable to them, why not just toss it to the Flood?"
"No! Do not let it feel the water, or it will be drawn back to Shira." It jolted, trying to draw its hand back, but the arm only twitched. The key fell to the ground. Fear flashed across its face.
"Who is Shira?"
"The one who—" It cut off at the sound of voices up above. Naia ducked out of the light, and prayed that whoever was up there wouldn't see the burning blazeroot in the darkness.
“Kastor thinks this is a bad idea,” the voice said, deep and grating.
“Dregs, man! You think I care what Kastor thinks,” a second voice retorted. This one sounded pretentious. “If he has three useful thoughts in the next cycle, I’ll drown myself in the Flood.”
The voices passed above Naia, a shadow covering the hole for a brief second. She froze with fear. Are they the pirates? The creature wheezed loudly. She held her breath. All it would take was for one of the pirates to look in here and Naia would be dead.
“They will see. I’ll deal with the ones that side with him. Besides, anyone who challenges me has to deal with the Admiral. Don’t you worry about it,” the second replied again. After a pause he asked, “We will find him, you know that right?”
“I know! I know. It’s just that we’ve been searching for…”
The voices faded as they walked farther away from the rocky shelter. She released her breath, turning back to the creature.
“Who is Sh—”
The creature wasn’t moving. It wasn’t breathing, and its blood was no longer pumping. Floods. That had been kind of an important question!
Naia crept back over and picked the key up off the ground. It was a large key, colored emerald green. It was bulky, and its blade had large teeth. Later. She needed to leave. She could look at the strange key once she was back in town. She reached up and stuffed the key through the neck of the sac.
She nodded to the dead creature. May the Flood carry your spirit onward. Then Naia turned and jumped, catching the ledge. She pulled herself out of the gap, hoisting herself to her feet. The blazeroot was sputtering out.
Peering out, she could see the two men walking along the base of the slope. One wore a white suit with a tall white hat. The other was missing a hand. Farther along, she saw a camp, disguised amidst the forest of waterwort. It was hard to make out, but Naia should have spotted it on the way in. Floods, she had walked right next to it!
She waited until the pair of pirates were out of sight. Then taking a deep breath, she dashed out across into the mudflats.
