The Devil of the River
A Fantasy Short Story
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I.
"Rise," said the king to the river.
The water obeyed his command.
Sweat dripped from the brows of his dozen sorcerers, more gathered in one place than in any other corner of the known world. Though, there was a lot of the world unknown to this king.
To all kings.
This king smiled as the waters crept up the canyon walls before him. The river stopped at the thinnest crevasse of the stone walls it had cut over thousands of years. Workers - slaves - surged into the base of the canyon, not pausing to look at the wall of water forming before them, held back by magic they knew their gods did not allow. They rushed in and began building a wall, Strongmen pushed and pulled carts of stone bricks, hewn from the mountain quarries to the east, as well as cart of grout, mixed in vats at the canyon top.
They’d been preparing for this moment for months. They built with the rushed effort of trained men... and men who have a sword to their necks.
"Fesah!" shouted the king, though his vizier was standing within an arm’s reach of him, as always.
"Sir."
"Ensure nothing, not of heavens or dirt moves this water beyond the line I have drawn."
"Yes sir!" saluted the small man. Nothing more than a twig, draped in heavy violet and gold robes, those of the king’s colors. It looked as though his body barely carried them.
"I shall see to this priestess and her tale..." laughed the king as he left his vizier to supervise the work he demanded. The spellcasters, naught much more than slaves themselves, kept at their work. they held the water at by as the men below built their wall
Water receded away from the line the king had drawn on his map.
The parapets of rooftops appeared as the river receded.
"There is truth to your lies," said Rheton, the king, as he removed his crown and robe and sat upon his cushion within the tent.
"You found the city?" said the women bound to the tentpole in the center of the space, little more than a thin woolen blanket covering her.
"Little more than a town, but a wooden one at that."
The woman gasped. "Dearest Mikita." she said under her breath.
Rheton poured himself a glass of wine from the cask left beside his chair. It was a deep red, astringent to the woman's nose even a few feet away. "Your grandmother, that crone we killed correct?" said the king as he watched his wine fill the cup. He set down the cask and looked at the woman. "Mother, maybe." he said with a smirk.
The woman did not answer him.
"I've already killed one of your sons, Ephreeta, would you like me to bring in another?"
"You've got what you wanted."
"I have gotten nothing!" said the king with a shout. He had begun to stand in his anger. He stopped and looked at the woman, bound and frail before him, naked under the woolen covering given to her. He gave her! And she wished to rebel with words against him?
Rheton set down his cup of wine and walked to the door.
Ephreeta's stern face held solid. She watched the king and nothing else.
"Bring me the old one," said the King to someone outside the tent. The flap shut and the king returned to his seat, a dark grin cast upon his face.
Ephreeta jumped to speak, to cry out, but her will held strong. She sat back down on the hard packed dirt that made the floor of the tent.
"Yes," said the king, raising his glass once more. "This one means something to you. What was his name again?"
Ephreeta chose not to speak but words came from her mouth involuntarily when her son, her oldest, was brought into the tent.
"Gretan," she said. A whisper. A plea.
Her oldest was bloody and black with bruises. The youngest of the sores still wept as his worn skin tried to knit itself shut.
"Gretan, that is right." said the king. He stood, setting down his cup in favor of the small iron scepter he held when making a decree.
He struck the young man with iron against his face, bringing Gretan to his knees with a groan. His mother cried out now.
The guards did nothing.
The king smiled.
“You put up a valiant effort, my son. But valor has no place in this world.”
The man, strong beneath his hammered body, fought to stand. His groans did not cease as his body fought with all the final effort of a dying man to face that death on his own two feet.
The king struck him again and Gretan fell to the ground.
"There is only power in the world, nothing more." He turned to Ephreeta, still despite the terror and anguish and danger she felt. "Should your mother be telling the truth, there is the power of gods down below."
"Spare him and I will tell you everything," she cried.
"So, you haven't told me everything yet?" laughed the king. "Your lies are weak and blatant Ephreeta. You may be priestess of your village, but you are nothing to me. You are nothing to the power I shall soon hold."
There was a rustle at the tent door and the vizier was in their midst.
"Fesah?" said the king.
"Sire, the wall is complete. You may enter the city below."
"Excellent!" cried Rheton the king. "Prepare the retinue. Have the boy killed."
"No! cried Ephreeta.
Fesah left to inform he guards outside, and the king turned to Ephreeta. "You were a priestess and a leader! Yet here you sit, bound and weak, your magic nothing before the might of my kingdom.
Rheton finally drank of his cup of wine, downing the entire draught.
"All is ready, sire," said Fesah returning.
"Sire?"
Ephreeta’s cries turned into a cackling laughter as the king fell to the ground. Red tears punctured passed his eyes and streamed down his face, his purple face. Rheton, king of so much and so little choked on the floor of his tent as Ephreeta laughed. Her son's death ignored but not forgotten in the joyous moment. She would be free of this king at last.
"Continue," choked out the king.
"Sire?"
"Continue down. Bring me to the city." He coughed but held firm. He may not have stood without Fesah's help, but he did stand.
The poison had not been for nothing.
"Let us see the power of the gods below. Take me to the city."
"Sire." said Fesah, but before he could turn and shout the orders outside the tent the king squeezed his shoulder.
Tears of blood still stained his face.
"You will bring her with us.
II.
Antev woke with a start as water crept into his bedroll.
He did not shout, nor swear nor pray. He stood and surveyed the changing world around himself.
He was not upset.
He was angry.
His pack had been swept away by the flow of the water, rising about his calves now. Only his hammer remained beside his bedroll. The river he had slept a good few spans above last night had risen to surround him in a still rising pool.
Antev swore an oath under his breath and picked up the hammer. The bedroll, furs and wool, was waterlogged and barely worth saving as is. The furs would rot now that they had been inundated, and the wool was far too heavy to pull to shore. If there was a shore remaining. The water yet rose.
It was as if the river had been blocked. Antev looked up stream and down. The flood was rising from downstream. Flashfloods came from above, and they were swifter than this. Antev would not have woken as gently as he had, were that the case.
Antev thought many men would have acquiesced to their situation were they in his - well sodden - shoes.
Antev would not.
He did not hope to find answers as he began south, still walking through the river, vaguely towards shore with a focus on downstream. Antev did not hope.
He would not let himself hope. Hope was for fools and the disappointed. Hope lead to disaster. Antev lived without it.
Disaster still found him though.
His walk became a swim as the water levels rose. He turned to get to shallower waters - the hammer he carried was heavy, folded iron from the Istar Forge, its head was smaller than one thought for war, a ballpeen hammer if anything, but in the water it weighed down his muscles more than Antev wished. As he went to shallower waters, something tugged at his ankle.
The tug became a pull and Antev's head disappeared under the rising river.
Gods, he hated water.
Antev turned, beneath the surface and saw a stony line wrapped about his ankle and extending to the deeper parts of the river.
The stone line tightened about him and pulled harder. Antev swung his hammer at the line, but the water slowed his effort so much that when the hammerhead hit the line it was naught but a tap. Like knocking on a door.
The line didn't react.
Antev did. Fear entered his heart for the first time. His lungs had not begun to anguish yet, but he had not thought to inhale a final gasp as the stone line pulled him under the water. There hadn't been time. There would be no time left soon enough.
The water was dirty with debris from the untouched land of the riverbank, now underwater. Antev couldn't see what pulled him deeper into the mirk. He couldn't see what lay at the end of the stone line about his leg.
He could meet it though.
Antev twisted his body, grabbing the stone line around his leg and pulling. It did not feel like stone, rather, it was sinuous and slimy. His hand didn't want to hold, but Antev forced it. His mighty grip crushed the line pulling him deeper. He pulled, hammer falling to his side as the leather strap around his wrist was all that kept the weapon with him. Underwater though, his hands would be his true weapons.
Reaching forward, another hand grasped the stone line. He felt it waiver now, a shudder up through it, a discomfort. Antev smiled and he worked.
Lungs and air did not matter. Sight in the dark and darkening mirk of the water did not matter. Work mattered. Survival mattered. Antev did not hope to survive as he did not hope for anything in this life. He would die as all men before him had. Survival was a fools dream, as was hope.
Antev wanted to win.
In the mark there was a glint of reflection. A shine against the dull of the water and the stony sinuous line that Antev pulled against.
He saw the glint again.
An eye.
The beast was finally in sight.
Antev didn't let go of the line as he gave one final pull, paddling with his free foot as he did so. The antagonist was revealed. A monster, not quite a snake, not quite an insect, but something in between.
Stone colored scales covered it, making the monster almost impossible to see as it blended in with the river rock floor. the only sight Antev knew for certain was the beast were the bright eyes, and the teeth.
The line tightened against his ankle, trying to pull him away. The monster didn't wish to be seen. It wanted him to drown before it ate.
Antev would not allow that. His body yelled and he opened his mouth in a silent shout as he was stretched, pulled by the monster's tail and his own grip on the beast. No air escaped his mouth. There was little left in his lungs.
The hammer would be useless underwater, even so close. He'd have to gain purchase elsewhere before letting go of the tail anyway to keep from being swept away, out to the depths and to a place he would drown.
Stone moved in the murk and Antev beheld the monster. A grin of opalescent teeth, turned into a maw of blackness only ringed by bright pointed razers of death.
Behind the maw though lay salvation. Instinct took over and Antev moved as quickly as his massive body could in the deep. He spun and pushed forward with his feet, granting the monster's wish and swimming towards the mouth. The creature snapped the maw shut in a quick threat spurned by hunger showing in the dim yellow eyes above the open mouth, like agate in a field of stone. Antev knew his target as the mouth opened again. He wanted to hope, but held back. There was nothing hope could garner now that action could not. Letting one hand leave the tail, he reached towards the gaping mouth and towards the row of knifepoints aimed at him.
The stony river monster did not have lips, but it had enough skin to cover its teeth. Antev gripped with his left hand, fingernails pressing into slimy-smooth flesh and holding as tight as he could. With a push, he let go of the tail with his right hand and threw his body in a slow twist overtop the monster's head. It moved, quick as any dartfish in the river and turned to meet him. He flowed through the water as the greater writhed and the bulk of his body struck the monster's head. Quickly, Antev looked about and saw the agate-yellow stones that were the eyes of the beast. He reached with his right hand before the monster could swerve its head again and struck with pointed thumb deep into the soft tissue of the open eye.
The creature jerked beneath him and threw him about. In the rapid movement, Antev was thrown from the creature. His left hand never let go of the skin of its mouth, but the thrashing had torn the flesh as it sent the man rocketing through the water.
Antev had hoped to blind the beast. He realized that as he turned away from the mass of river-stones already beginning to disappear in the murk of the depths by the river floor. Such was hope, a bastard that never delivered.
He swam as his lungs nearly burst. Antev felt his heart in his throat as the muscle worked to pump what little oxygen remained in his system about his overworked body.
Antev burst forth from the river and his lungs filled with what felt as important as their first breath. Air was the elixir that took away instinct and replaced it with thought. He hurried to swim away from the center of the river, now mostly still. Fear pricked at the back of his neck, preparing him for another strike from the monster below, but none came.
As Antev stood at the bank of the river, it yet rose about his feet.
He looked south and knew whatever lay there was what blocked the flow. Anger and annoyance wanted to push him that direction, but he let neither lead. He looked again to the still surface of the growing lake and instead curiosity took him south.
Anger returned when Antev saw it was magic, and people casting said magic, holding the river at bay.
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III.
The first sorceress fell quickly. She had been watching her work and did not see Antev approach. His hammer could kill, but it did not now. He would try not to kill without a threat, but Antev would surely injure. Magic was a threat enough.
The second saw him and Antev was struck with a burst of air that cracked like a whip. The air about the man shimmered with magic and Antev saw the dark grey staining of his skin that marked uncontrolled use of the power.
There was no second whip of air.
Antev's hammer struck true and the sorcerer who had attacked him did not fare so well as the first.
Water began to flow again, though only a trickle. Antev looked about as he crouched near the body of the sorcerer.
The river fell down a series of small cascades in this area. A choke point in the valley, short canyon walls worked their way up away from the rising waterline. A dozen sorcerers stood at the edge of the falls and pushed with magic against the flow of the water. The wall of water was rising, held back by an invisible force. At the base of the invisible wall, workers labored to hastily construct a real wall. Antev saw their camp on the other side of the river, higher up the canyon, in the foothills that led into the mountains above the river. The tents were high enough to remain untouched by the rising water.
Below the falls, Antev saw something else entirely.
A massive village stood where the water was still flowing away from. It was made of dark soaked wood, but somehow preserved mostly in place by the chill of the flowing river. The buildings were beyond wonder, not only for their timber construction, something so opulent as to be attempted only by the most greedy of rulers - and only shortly before their overthrow by less extravagant men and women.
For all written history, Orosso’s curse had killed nearly all of the trees of the land. To see a village made entirely of the material spoke to its age. What pushed the impossible sight beyond wonder though was the scale. These were not buildings for men.
This had been a village of giants.
Water still poured off of the slanted roofs, down into the rutted out streets, now covered in smooth earth and river rocks. Only the largest of the buildings, in the center of the village remained anywhere close to what the magnificent place must have looked like in its prime. The homes and shops and all the unknown buildings at radiating out from the central building were worn down by the river at a much greater rate. Time had not destroyed them, but it had not sat idle either. Rotten wood had been polished smooth and worn down, appearing almost as if it had been stone.
As the river drained below, puddles remained between buildings and it sounded as if a storm had calmed itself to merely a rain, with constant water falling in the beautiful symphony that a tempest's aftermath brings.
The central building of the village was beyond words. The trees that had built it must have been those of the gods, they were so tall and wide. The structure must have held a great importance, taking materials which were not used on the other buildings, and constructed in a way that sitting beneath the flowing water had not worn it to nothing.
Antev shook himself from his awe and looked about quickly. The other sorcerers had not noticed him, nor their increased workload. If the workers, slaves most likely, had noticed him, there had been no cry. There work took their attention.
Each of the magicians stood at a spot atop the falls which wished to flow down atop the ruins below.
Antev didn't know the math, but he knew they'd each be working a little harder now to keep the water at bay compared to before their cohort had fallen in numbers.
He looked down at the village discovered below.
Surely, he could stop the sorcerers and see the wonder.
There was no need for hope when he could make it truth.
Antev crouched and worked his way across the rocky expanse that had once been riverbed near the falls. He held no illusions about what he would be doing to the magicians at work. There would be no trial, only an executioner.
It was heartless, but Antev only let the thought linger in his mind for a moment as his huge arms wrapped around the neck of the third sorcerer working upon the river.
He was not a good man.
But he could not abide the work of magic. Each of the sorcerers had the stained grey slate skin of those who worked magic and let it work them. Unchecked, this damage would spread from their extremities inward and reach body parts which could not be tainted: the heart and lungs were fatal, but other organs felt the brunt of casting magic without proper energy as well.
Antev knew too much about magic.
He had allowed it in too much of his life.
After the sixth stained body was dead or incapacitated, Antev looked about. None on the river's precipice had seemed to notice him. Of all the evils magic gifted, it always seemed to curse its users with an unwarranted confidence.
He did not know the strain the remaining sorcerers felt, but he knew it would affect him shortly. He must make his time below quick.
Antev turned to begin his climb down the canyon rocks that held the guided the falls and saw figures below.
He would not be the only explorer of the exposed buildings.
It appeared to be a retinue. An important man led with guards around him. There was a woman bound behind them being forced along with the party. Antev did not try to assume what story they had.
He knew they were powerful enough for an army of sorcerers.
That was enough to make Antev find a purpose below beyond exploration.
He would stop whatever it is they were doing.
IV.
Water sloshed beneath Antev's feet as he slunk through the dilapidated streets of the ancient timber village. It took more effort than he liked to keep from reaching out his arms and touching each building he walked past. Though rotted, they were still marvels of wooden construction. They were wonders of a time before a god died.
He headed through winding roads towards the large central building. Sephrinne had been the one to study the giants. Antev had always found the gods more interesting. He wished he paid more attention to her excited ramblings now. Surely she would have marveled at this place. Antev scowled. She would have held the water back herself to see it, if only she knew where it lay. In all her ramblings and all the lectures he attended with her, Antev had never heard of a sunken city. He rounded a corner and saw the central building standing resolute as water drained off of it. The small party of people ahead of him down here stood before it. He wondered how they discovered this place.
"It will not budge, sire," said a sniveling man, thin, he looked as if a snake had slithered beneath violet and gold blankets. He spoke to the leader of the retinue. A king it seemed.
There were men standing before the timber doors of the great building. Its walls were so tall that the roof must have stood out of the river's surface. Antev wondered at the moss atop it. The doors were just as great, Antev could triple his height and still walk under the sealed threshold without bending his neck. the men about the door were chopping at it with poleaxes. They were not the tools for the job but they should still be working.
The king walked to the door and outstretched a hand. He touched the soaked wood which could not be chopped. "There’s magic here," he said.
His vizier let out an astonished gasp well practiced by the weak wanting of power. "Is there anything you can do, sire?" he said.
The king nodded.
"Bring him food!" cried the vizier.
"You cannot do this!" cried the woman, bound, in the center of the retinue.
"Surely, priestess, you have some other way in then?" said the king. Antev saw that he was seething. It appeared the monarch was doing everything he could not to explode at the prisoner.
The prisoner shook her head.
The king slapped her before turning to one of his men, food in hand for the man. "Then do not speak," he said before grabbing a chunk of bread.
Antev stood.
His hand was on his hammer.
He could not abide what he saw, but he would have to be careful. The guards he could handle, but the king was a sorcerer himself. None feast like that before a great effort.
"And what is it you seek?" Antev said, loud enough that his voice echoed off the walls of the ancient pavilion.
All eyes turned to him.
He smiled.
Compared to the river monster, a dozen soldiers from a nameless eastern kingdom would be easy.
Attention left him though as a cry rang out from above them all. A second cry followed.
The king looked from behind Antev, where the cries came down to the man that stood before him. "What have you done?" he said, voice quiet. "Apprehend this man!" he shouted before turning to the door.
Antev knew what the shouts had been.
He heard the water beginning to fall behind him.
In a flash, the king turned towards the sealed doors and placed his hands on the yet-strong wood. Antev saw the air shimmer about the man but could not see the magic he produced as he turned his attention to the soldiers coming at him. They were good soldiers of the east, stout swords at their hips more for station than defense, stone poleaxes at their hands. Wonderful for battle. Not for single combat.
Their armer stopped shimmering as Antev struck with his hammer, thin mail atop leather about their chests and their heads.
The first blow came as Antev ducked beneath the stabs of two men. He rolled the weight of his body forward as he ducked down and put all of it behind his hammer, outstretched twice the length of his arm. It struck and the man it hit responded only with a grunt as he folded up onto the wet dirt and rocks at their feet. Metal and leather and ribs crunched beneath the metal head of the hammer, no bigger than three fingers in width.
A third man drew his sword as the second opted to strike Antev with the center of the poleax. The stone hit hard, but not as hard as a metal blade.
Antev took the hit in his back before turning hammer first into the man. The helmet he wore defended as well as the armor on his chest would. the man fell to the soft ground with a hard thud.
Antev turned and only the third man remained. His sword shook in his hand. The other soldiers had disappeared into the open doors of the massive building.
Antev smiled.
"You wish to join your friends?" he asked.
"For the king," said the soldier, his voice a whisper.
"For your king," said Antev, taking a step forward. The man dropped his sword and ran, not towards the open building but down a side street. Antev flourished his hammer as he began a jog towards the building. He loved when they ran.
Before he crossed the threshold there was a shout from within and Antev was thrown backwards with a force he'd never felt before. He flew across the pavilion in front of the massive building and crashed against the rotten wood of the building that had been behind him. The soft wood crumpled against the weight of the impact and Antev fell into the building. Darkness fought to wash over him, from the impact and from the debris, now falling on him. He shook his head and pushed up on rotted wood and wet stone to try and stand again. that hurt. But Antev would live.
Water had filled the soil once more, it was standing at his ankles. There wouldn't be much time before the sorceress above could hold the river no longer.
"YOU WILL BOW BEFORE ME," shouted a voice. It boomed within Antev's ribcage and shook his head. It was so loud to disorient Antev. It sounded as if it came from all around him, each and every building shook with the noise.
There was only one place it could be coming from.
Antev grabbed his hammer and ran towards the massive building at the center of the village. his body groaned as he ran off the pain of the impact he had taken. There would be time for pain later.
He crossed the threshold of the giant's building and saw the impossible.
It was some sort of church or temple, a place where the giants must have gathered, for it was entirely open inside. Or, it would have been, were it not filled with the lushest greenery that Antev had ever seen. Plants of all kinds filled the place, growing from every inch of soil and from the walls, stretching towards the ceiling. The place was impossible. Antev saw a desert lotus at his feet, right next to seaweed, floating as if still sitting in water. Ferns and flowers and even small trees filled the space. It was a surreal jungle.
At the center of it all glowed the figure of a woman, golden and perfect, save for a single gash as black as death beneath her ribs. The woman was not alive, she appeared as if a statue, larger than that of a human woman, but smaller than a giant would be. Everything would lead Antev to believe this to be a sculpture, but the feeling in his heart. This was not a sculpture.
It was a goddess.
Yavair.
"YOU THINK TO THREATEN ME WITH SUCH MAGIC?" laughed the booming voice from before. Antev braced, but no shockwave came at him this time. His vision was torn from the goddess floating in the center of the room down towards two less magnificent figures.
The king slouched, defiantly out of his feeble bow, his face angry. There was a red stain growing at his shoulder where he had been stabbed. Above him was the woman who had been bound before. In her hand was a massive spear, too large for a human to use. It was brilliant in its silvery shining plating. It looked sharp as the day it had been forged.
Antev wanted to stare. He wanted to think, to wonder at the magnificence of the discoveries about him. Instead, he risked a glance away from the woman and the spear. His guess had been correct, the guards lay all about the room, covered in the foliage growing here. The blast must have been for him.
"What do you plan to do?" he asked. His voice was loud, carrying through the room though it could not echo with the plants so thick.
The woman with the spear shot him a glance as sharp as the weapon. Her eyes were fury. The air around her warped and shimmered, with the focus of the distortion centering on the spearhead.
She was floating above the ground.
"The water will reach us soon," continued Antev. "What will you do?"
"I CAN STOP THE WATER."
"You may," he said, stepping closer. "But what then? You have your revenge-"
"I WILL NEVER HAVE MY REVENGE." shouted the woman. Antev stopped his approach at the force of her words, but began once more. "YOU THINK IT WAS ONLY THIS FEEBLE KING WHO HARMED ME? YOU THINK HIS DEATH WILL RETURN MY SONS? MY MOTHER?"
"I know it will not. but neither will this power."
"WHAT KNOW YOU OF THE ULBISHTI SPEAR?"
"I know the person who murdered the goddess before you is no longer with us."
The woman stopped, she did not speak, but she did not look to the dead goddess behind her. Antev had not won yet.
"Their children, if they had any, are lost to time. There’s no legend of them. What do we talk about when we discuss that power if we even discuss that power?
"You know of the weapon designed to destroy the dragons and instead turned against a god. You hold it in your hands. You know its name. You must know of the aftermath then.
"Orosso cursed this land. In grief he destroyed in a way that the land could never recover. I wonder what marvels the little peoples of the world could have created had that not happened." He paused at the next words which came to mind but could not stop himself from speaking. They were true as the others. "My wife could tell you of the wonders human and giant could have created with only the trees about them.
"A goddess doesn't die alone."
The woman looked at him. Her jaw was open slightly. In awe or in anger or in another emotion unknown? Antev wondered.
Before she could speak. There was a crash. An eruption of sound filled the world behind and around them.
The water had been loosed.
Before Antev could react, the woman turned the spear towards the king. The bleeding man had stood and looked to turn away in the distraction of everything about. With a thrust of the spear, he was split into a dozen pieces. the point of the weapon never touched him. Blood mist into the air, wet and red, it covered the plants about him. Gore fell to the ground next. Soft thuds rained onto the soil.
Antev looked up at the woman, her spear held upwards once more. Her eyes were wide, surprised at the sight before her.
Before Antev could speak, the water reached them. It crashed through the open doorways, a wall of death forced into the open space.
With a thrust, the woman held out her arms and the water ceased.
Magic held it as the sorcerers had above, but of a power so much greater.
Antev looked at the blue-black wall before him. Only a few drops had reached his skin. He turned back to see the woman, she smiled at the power within her, the air pulsating and dancing about her like a dozen mirages of the desert stacked atop one another.
Then her smile faded.
"THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR THE WORLD," she said. Even controlled, her voice boomed.
Antev nodded.
"I HAVE NOTHING LEFT NOW. THE KING TOOK MY CHILDREN. HE TOOK MY MOTHER. MY VILLAGE WILL SURVIVE BETTER WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE AND EXISTENCE THERE TO BE THREATEND BY THE KINGDOM'S REMAINING PEOPLE."
She looked at Antev. There was still humanity within her eyes. There was hope.
"CAN YOU SWIM?" she said.
Antev wished then that he couldn’t. That he could stay in this wondrous place with her and with the weapon's power holding the water at bay. He looked up at the goddess, still so magnificent even in death, and at the plants all about him. What lay down here undiscovered by the botanists of the world?
"I can." he said.
"I WILL CALM THE WATERS ABOUT YOU."
"What then?"
"A FINAL ACT BEING OF GENEROSITY IS ENOUGH."
Antev turned, then stopped. "What is your name?" He asked, turning again to face her.
"EPHREETA."
V.
Antev stood at the riverside. The water's flow was rough, yet unnatural as it undulated with the increased flow cutting new paths and recutting old ones. The weight of the dammed water behind it forcing it forwards.
Even still, Antev could see a mossy island in the center, water cutting about it.
Not an island, a roof.
He thought of Ephreeta. And he thought of her son.
His mind returned to Zeph.
Antev grabbed his hammer and continued onward, as he always had.
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Love ya!
Max