Then an
idea came to her. It was uncertain, perhaps even dangerous, but then again, it
just may prove invaluable. Aniel made her way out of the castle and down an
embankment where the Nameless River flowed. She stood along the shore,
listening to the water gurgle as it passed. A powerful, untamed spirit resided
in the waters, and she knew that touching the surface of the river was
dangerous. Placing one hand on the hilt of her sword, she submerged the other
one deep into the river.
Almost
immediately, she felt something like a current tug on her, almost dragging her
into the water. She braced herself and then tried to wrap her fingers around
whatever it was that was pulling on her, but she couldn’t do it. She just
grasped water. The force drew her arm deeper into the river. Aniel knew that if
she went in, she would not come back out. Withdrawing her sword, Aniel stabbed
it into the ground to keep herself from being dragged any further. Then, in one
final jerk, she yanked herself free from the river spirit’s grip and fell back
into the dirt.
“I want
to speak with you!” gasped Aniel, her chest heaving up and down. “I need your help.
I need answers.”
The dark
swirling water didn’t respond. It moved along peacefully, whispering in
trickles and gurgles. Aniel stood up and looked past the gleaming surface to
peer into the deep. Whether it was the reflection from the moonlight or not,
Aniel didn’t know, but there appeared to be two silvery orbs staring back at
her.
“You
must answer me!” she cried. “If you don’t, you are no better than the evil you
washed away all those hundreds of years ago!” The babbling water continued to
babble. “If you don’t come willingly, you leave me no choice.”
Aniel
removed her sword from the clayish mud and stabbed it into the river.
Instantly, water lurched into the air and the two orbs, seemingly filled with
pain, grew as wide as saucers. The river raged and Aniel pulled the blade out.
“Show
yourself!” Water, in the shape of a hand, splashed onto the shore, reaching for
Aniel’s feet. This only enraged her. “So be it.”
Once
again, Aniel drove the sword into the river, which convulsed and thrashed. She
withdrew the sword, took several steps back, and waited. The water continued to
churn, bubbling up in a fountain-like geyser in the shape of a man. Even before
the spirit’s figure was complete, it walked toward Aniel, water flowing in its
body and spilling out with each step it took. By the time it reached the shore,
its arms had formed and its long beard appeared as a white waterfall, always
running, but never losing its form. The river-spirit stood well over seven feet
and its silver-like eyes glared at Aniel.
“Where’d
you get that sword?” it demanded.
“It was
given to me before my task began,” answered Aniel.
“By
whom?” asked the spirit. “And by what right? My water flows in that blade.”
“I did
not come here tonight seeking questions. I came here seeking answers.”
The
river-spirit took a step closer, water splashing on the ground. “You will not
get answers without questions. If you want to know what I know, then you must
do what all the birds in this land do.”
Aniel
still gripped the sword rather tightly in her hand as a precaution against the
volatile nature of the river-spirit. “And what is that?”
“They
come seeking to quench their thirst from my body. I only allow them to partake
if they have news to share. So, if you want information, then you must give
some. If not, I will have to drown you. What is it going to be?”
She
studied the river-spirit for several seconds before finally answering. “Fine. I
shall answer what questions I can. But I will ask the first. What is your
name?”
A
malicious smile spread across the river-spirit’s lined, but flowing face.
“Erolorith.”
“Erolorith?”
asked Aniel. Her hand fell to the sword hanging at her side. “Have you not been
known by other names, Vehelmuth?”
He
smirked and took a step forward. “I have been known by many names.” Aniel took
a step back, making sure to keep her distance from the river-spirit. “Now it is
my turn,” said Erolorith. “What is your name? And how did you come about that
blade?”
Aniel
gripped the hilt of her sword, readying herself in case the spirit tried to
drag her down into its depths. “My name is Aniel. I am one of the Avarah. This
blade was given to me by the One who sent me.”
“And who
sent you?” sneered Erolorith. “What entity has the power to harness water from
my river?”
“I am
not at liberty to say.”
Erolorith
took a menacing step toward Aniel, who quickly lurched back and pointed the tip
of her shimmering sword toward the heart of the river-spirit.
“But he
is much older than you,” continued Aniel. “Ageless. Besides, you’ve already
asked three questions to my one. Now it is my turn to ask you. Tell me what
happened to Mezaheen and his mother.”
“That is
not a question,” smirked Erolorith.
“If that is how you want this to go, then
fine. I’ll rephrase it. What happened the night you broke the borders of your
river and swept Mezaheen out into the Bholding Sea?”
“What more can I tell you?” said Erolorith.
“You seem to already know what happened. Now it is my turn.”
“No!” demanded Aniel. “You have not answered
my question. Why did you cross the banks and flood his castle?”
Erolorith
had a twisted, yet restrained expression on his face, as if he were trying to
keep his anger from revealing itself.
“Because
I did not want that evil feeding off of me. It was time to wash that filth out
to sea. Now, it is my turn. What are
the Avarah doing back in the Northern Reaches?”
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