Mystic: A Book of Underrealm (15 page)

He will recover with rest and food,
Loren told herself. But a shadow that she could not banish covered her heart.
 

Soon, Bubble emerged from the stream and bade them to stop. “You will wait here. Bubble will fetch one to help make things ready. Wait.”

He returned to the water and vanished from sight. The day was pleasant in the shade, and finding themselves on a grassy knoll, they cast themselves upon the ground to await the wurt’s return. Loren cleaned their second fish. They had suffered many long days of starvation, and the first had been eaten in barely a blink.

“I hope Bubble will keep fetching us fish.” Gem crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his hands under his head, looking at ease for the first time in days.

“He is not your trained hound,” said Loren. “Treat him with respect. Without his help, we will never enter the city’s gate and might well starve.”

“Why do you suppose he wishes to help us, in any case?” Gem said, ignoring Loren. “He could have left us sitting on that riverbank and spared himself Brimlad’s ire.”

“Kind hearts and willing hands may be found across the nine lands,” said Xain, almost to himself. “And often in the unlikeliest of places.”

It had the sound of a saying, and Loren looked at the wizard with interest. But Xain stared off into the darkness beneath the trees. His right hand plucked at the other elbow—
pick, pick.

Loren thought they might have to wait a while for Bubble’s return, but a slight splash came before long. He was not alone. From the water beside him emerged a second wurt. This one looked almost the same as Bubble but half a hand shorter. The new wurt stared at them with unblinking eyes and did not follow Bubble up the riverbank towards them.

“Bubble has brought his brother, Stream. He does not speak with men or know your words.”

“Hello,” said Loren, inclining her head towards the wurt. “Can you tell him we are thankful for his help?”

Bubble turned, and from his mouth issued a series of high, melodic whines. They hung on the air, haunting and beautiful, with slight sibilance scattered amongst the noise. Stream blinked his curious wurt blink, but turned and said nothing.

“What is your plan, then, wurt?” Xain stood and came beside Loren. Bubble crouched on all fours and leapt back, looking like nothing so much as a frog. Stream flung himself back into the river, where in a moment his eyes popped above the surface to observe.

“’Tis all right,” said Loren, her voice a soothing murmur. “He means you no harm. Please do not be frightened.”

“This one is large,” said Bubble.

In fact, Loren was as tall as the wizard, though Xain had more bulk. “What is our plan?” she asked, hoping to return the wurt’s mind to the matter at hand.

Once he seemed convinced that Xain would come no closer, Bubble straightened. Stream’s head emerged from water, but he did not approach.
 

“Bubble will go to the rivergate. You will need air to pass beneath it. Bubble can give it to you. He can build a . . .” The wurt thought for a moment, film flashing across his eyes as he blinked. “I do not know your word. But it will let you swim far in the water.”

“Can we help?” said Loren. “I have some skill with handcrafts.”

Bubble shook his head. “You do not know this making. Bubble will take Stream there to show him, and then return to watch you. It would not be well for other wurts to find you without Bubble here.”

“I understand,” said Loren, though she did not see the danger in meeting more wurts. They seemed a harmless folk. “Again, we thank you.”

“Indeed, you are more than kind,” said Gem, jumping to his feet. “Do you often swim up and down the river, searching for wandering strangers to aid?”

Bubble blinked at the boy. Then the wurt sidled up to Gem and placed a wide, webbed hand on his belly. “You have not eaten the fish?”

“His share, and more besides,” said Annis. “I do not know where it all goes, for he is still skinny as a spar.”

Bubble looked at Annis with interest. “But you are not. Why is this?”

Annis looked at Loren, confused.
 

Loren said, “Annis has never wanted for food. Her family has the wealth to eat as much as they wish. Gem was raised in hardship and often went hungry.”

“His . . . family does not feed him?” Bubble said the words slowly, as though piecing each together in his mind.

“I have no family,” said Gem. “My parents are dead, or lost to me.”

“Family . . . clan . . . others,” said Bubble. “The others who see you. These ones.” He pointed at Loren and Gem. “Why do they not feed you?”

Loren felt perilously close to offense, as though they had broken some wurt law they knew nothing about. “We only just met the boy. We have done our best.”

“Before you, then,” said Bubble, his voice now insistent, “why did others not feed him?”

Loren looked at Xain, who seemed to know more about the wurts than any of them. But the wizard only shrugged.
 

“He has no kin,” she said helplessly. “Few would take in an orphan boy.”

“But he was hungry?”
 

“Often, yes,” said Gem cheerily.

“But they did not feed him.” Bubble pondered, looking back to his brother. “This is a great evil. I did not know men were so cruel.”

Annis sniffed and folded her arms. “’Tis not cruelty. Only one cannot go around feeding every poor and starving orphan in the nine lands. There is not enough food, for one thing.”

“There are always fish. Bubble will go now and build your air. Feed the sick child.”

He turned and leapt into the river. Stream slipped into the current beside him. Gem stared, flabbergasted.

“I am not sick!”
 

“You could be,” said Loren. “Look at you. You are more bone than meat.”

“And it has brought us the wurts’ help when our journey seemed hopeless,” said Xain. “Be thankful for that. Sometimes, a frail look can offer advantage.”

His eyes stayed on Annis for a moment, and his right hand stole to his elbow.
Pick, pick.

eighteen

THEY WAITED UPON THAT RIVERBANK through the day, with Bubble vanishing and reappearing every so often, seemingly at random. An hour would pass with no sign of the wurt, and then he would spring from the shallows clutching yet another fish.

“You are still hungry,” said Bubble, pointing at Gem. “Eat.”

After the second or third time, Gem threw up his hands and scowled. “I have eaten fish until I never wish to taste it again! I am not hungry!”

Bubble indicated the boy’s belly, still thin enough to see the ribs. “You have not eaten enough. You are sick.”

“I am
not
sick!”

Loren was more than happy to keep eating, for they had been hungry many days, and she did not know how they would acquire provisions in Wellmont. Xain and Annis had spent the last of their coin. Loren would have to steal something, she supposed, and the prospect thrilled her less than she imagined it would. But when she put fish upon the fire, Bubble interrupted her.

“Bubble saw you do this before. Why?”

“Do what? We are eating the fish you brought us.”

“You are burning it. Ruining it with fire.”

“She is only cooking it,” Annis said.
 

Blinking, he said, “Bubble does not know this word.”

“Cooking!” said Gem, exasperated. “Putting the fish on the fire until it browns, so you can eat it. Do you think we would eat the foul things raw?”

“Bubble does not know this word.”

“Bubble does not know
any
words!” said Gem. “How do you eat fish?”

The wurt vanished into the river and reappeared with another fish. Then, to Loren’s disgust, he tore into it with his sharp teeth, scooping flesh into his mouth and swallowing without chewing.

“Ugh,” said Gem. “I was full before. Now I will not eat for a week.”

Bubble also seemed fascinated, if terrified, by Xain. The wurt would sit a few paces away, staring at the wizard while Xain feigned no notice. If ever he glanced in Bubble’s direction, the wurt would scuttle away. After being under Bubble’s study for a half hour, the wizard finally pounded his hand on the ground.
 

“What? What are you staring at, creature?”

Bubble vanished into the river and did not reappear for more than an hour while Xain pointedly ignored Annis and Loren’s disapproving stares. Gem, however, seemed to enjoy the reprieve and took a nap upon the grass in the afternoon sun.

When Bubble finally surfaced, Loren headed him off before he could approach Xain. “You must forgive our friend. He is spent, as are we all. Do you require anything from him? Mayhap if you asked . . .”

“His face,” said Bubble. “It is covered with weeds, like your heads. But only his face bears them, and not yours.”

Loren looked at Xain for a moment before understanding dawned. “His beard?” In truth, it was a poor thing, merely a few days’ growth the wizard had not had time to shave. “All men have such. Well, almost,” she amended, thinking of Chet’s laughable attempts to grow a beard back in the Birchwood.

“It is . . . a sickness?”
 

Xain’s scowl deepened, and Loren fought not to laugh. “No, not a sickness. It is natural. Same as growing teeth.”

Bubble blinked at her. “Bubble has seen it before but has never understood. Thank you for this lore.”

“Of course.” Loren shrugged. “Such knowledge is commonplace amongst us and would hardly be considered lore.”

“Bubble knows more of man lore than any wurt in his clan,” he said, and Loren thought she heard pride in his voice. “One day, the leaders will come to learn everything about men, the way they once came to Bubble’s father.”

“Is your father very wise?” said Loren.

“The wisest,” said Bubble. “He was loremaster of our clan, and all of our knowledge swam in his mind. But he is gone now.” The wurt’s eyes drooped to the ground.

“I am sorry,” Loren whispered. “I have often wished for a father I would miss, and you do him a great honor.”

Bubble peered up at Loren, and his already-watery eyes gave him the appearance of weeping. “It is well. Bubble is proud to have had him for a father.” He sprang up suddenly. “Bubble must go see what Stream has done.”

Finally, just as the sun finished its long descent beyond the far horizon, Bubble and Stream emerged from the river together. As before, Stream hung back while Bubble came forwards to speak.

“Your air is ready. You must follow Bubble now, and we must all of us stay silent. You cannot go in the water, so you must hide yourselves upon the land.”

“We can go unseen when we wish,” said Loren. “Show us the way.”

First, they had to cross the stream. Loren wished Bubble had told them this earlier, for they had to do it in twilight’s dimming glow. They could not swim across with their cloaks and packs; Gem could not swim at all. By the time they came upon a shallow place to ford, the sun’s glow was nearly gone. Gem slipped once upon the rocks as they crossed and thrashed wildly in the water until Stream sprang forwards to rescue him. Loren thanked the sky above that the boy did not have a pack, for it would have been soaked through.

They walked south down the river until it rejoined the Dragon’s Tail, and then slipped along the shore towards Wellmont. They passed the Dorsean blockade that yawned across the river; decks were alight with the glow of torches and lanterns. But the light did not reach the shore, and there were many low bushes and trees to hide them. They passed the ships after a moment, and Loren sighed with relief.

“The worst is over,” said Annis. “At least, I hope so. I do not know how the wurts mean to get us under the rivergate, and only hope we do not have to—”

“Cease your prattling.”
 

Loren thought Xain’s voice too harsh. She tried to glare at the wizard in the moonslight, but either he did not see or avoided her gaze.

More torches dusted the Wellmont’s tall walls, rising higher and higher as they approached. These walls were far greater than those of Cabrus, which until now had been the largest she had seen. Some thirty feet high they must have stood and seemed several paces thick, stretching far in both directions, promising a sprawling city within. Loren felt awed at their sight.
 

“What army could hope to breach these walls?” she whispered, barely aware that she had spoken aloud.

“Enough men can destroy a mountain if they take a pebble at a time,” said Xain. “And there are more ways to conquer a city than flinging your arrows and swords.”

Though no one issued command, they all fell silent, coming closer still to the walls. They could see the guards pacing far above and knew an alarm could mean their death. No doubt every man bore a longbow and would fill the air with shafts at the slightest provocation.

It was a harrowing experience, but soon they reached the rivergate. Wide and strong, the gates were formed of steel. They met in the river’s middle, and Loren could see a great spar across the top holding them closed. Where the gates met the water they became grates, with holes so thin that Loren doubted even Gem could slip his hand inside. The grates tore and tugged at the flowing water, creating dozens of streaming whirlpools that gurgled loud in the night. The gates sank into the river, and in the darkness Loren could barely imagine how far they descended.

“How do they mean to get us under that?” whispered Gem. “It must go down to the river’s bottom.”

Loren thought of silencing the boy but realized that the swirling water would mask all but a shout. “They seem to know their business. Let us wait and see.”

Bubble emerged from the river. Stream followed a moment later. Bubble dragged something in his webbed fingers behind him. It looked to Loren like a bowl, only much larger than any she had ever seen. It stretched almost as wide as her arm span, deep as half her body. It looked to be formed of some combination of branches, reeds, and mud.

“Here is your air,” said Bubble. “Beneath it you can breathe long enough to swim under the gate.”

“What?” said Gem. “How will an oversized dinner bowl help us?”

“Come,” said Bubble, motioning to Loren. “Bubble will show you.”