“Do it again!”

  “Heror, that’s the fourth time you’ve asked me. Did your scatterbrain forget already?”

  “Just… do it! I’m watching for something.”

  Young Thaeolai sighed. She knelt down in the soft sand and rolled her wrists again. Just beyond the shoal’s edge, in the shallow water, a gentle whirlpool materialized and took over the tides, sending the gleamfish adrift in a sudden concentric dance. As soon as her wrists idled again, the vortex dissipated – and the tides retained their timeless rhythm.

  Heror’s wonderstruck eyes jumped from the water to Thaeolai’s hands, and then to the water again. He tilted his head beneath curls of brown, his observations ongoing.

  “So… how again can you connect to the water?”

  “It’s not just the water; it’s the kea, the energy,” Thaeolai explained. “You can tap into the Aelyum’s kea with your mind and interact with it. That’s what keawal is.”

  “I didn’t see any kea,” the young Heror countered.

  “You don’t see the kea,” Thaeolai said through a heavy, somewhat pretentious sigh. “You feel it. Maybe the best whyzards can see it because they feel it well enough, but… it all happens at a plane invisible to the ordinary eye.”

  “‘Ordinary’ eye?” Heror scoffed. “What are you saying?”

  “Since you’re so bad at picking up subtext, I’ll spare you the effort,” Thaeolai chirped. “Your eyes are ordinary.”

  Young Heror smirked at Thaeolai, and now his ordinary eyes went back to the water. And wonder soon gave way to wonderment. Where was this kea then? How did it flow where water and air and life also flowed? Was it encased within? Or was it a part of it all?

  His stream of thoughts broke when Ucankacei called out from down the way.

  “Heror! Thaeolai! The canoe is ready! Let’s not waste a perfect morning!”

  And so he left his wonders to the waves – where they endlessly churned, unanswered.

  It was dawn on the eastern coast. The light was still low, but the Sun was rising – an amber beacon beneath the clear sky, nestled on the horizon like an egg in a nest. Droplets of fire pooled at its base, melding into the ocean-scape, as its burgeoning heat ushered the sea breeze ashore. The winds tuned. The plovers cheeped.

  “Heror, caref– careful, there’s driftwood!”

  Heror’s eyes had been fixed on the Sun as he aimlessly moseyed ahead, but now they shot forward. He jumped to narrowly avoid tripping over a protruding branch half-buried in the sand. Then he sent an embarrassed glance at Thaeolai, who clicked her tongue as a mother might.

  “Do you always rush ahead without watching where you’re going?” Thaeolai lamented.

  “Heror, Thaeolai! Up here! I have something to show you.”

  At Ucankacei’s beckon, the teenagers quickened their pace. The old man was up ahead, close to the tides – crouching in the dampened sand as his graying blonde hair twitched with each gust. In his hand, he carried a small conch shell with roped red streaks and exquisite lantern-like frills.

  As the old man saw them approach, a youthful glint shined in his eye, and he brought the shell back down to the sand, pressing the opening against the grains. Then he removed his hand and stood, stretching his warped limbs and cracking his back.

  “What is it?” Heror asked as the two neared.

  “See this shell?” Ucankacei gestured to the conch at his feet. “You might think most of these are empty. But watch…”

  Ucankacei knelt down again. He motioned for the young ones to come closer.

  “If you’re not ready, you might miss it. C’mon, come in, come in…”

  Heror and Thaeolai huddled close, and Ucankacei brought his hand down toward the shell. His fingers hovered above the shell’s surface and wiggled – as if he was preparing himself. And then, he snatched the shell and turned it upright, so the children could see the opening. Heror wasn’t ready, and so by the time he focused, there was nothing. But Thaeolai saw it; her eyes lit up.

  “I saw something move!” she exclaimed. “I saw it!”

  “Did you see it, my boy?” Ucankacei asked Heror.

  “No,” Heror admitted, disappointed.

  “Here. I’ll do it again for you.”

  Ucankacei gently turned over the shell and placed it in the sand again. He lifted his hand away and waited a few seconds. Heror focused his eyes early. And then, in a flash, Ucankacei snatched and overturned the conch. Heror saw it this time: A small, slimy brown organism fleeing into the shell’s darkest recesses.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Oh!” Heror erupted out of instinct. “What… what was that?”

  “That… was a whelk,” Ucankacei proudly informed, shifting his eyes between Heror and Thaeolai. “A shoehorn whelk, to be exact. You’ll find them all over the place on these shoals. But they’re shy, so you have to know where to look! They love to hide in shells just like these. The fascinating thing about whelks is… most of these shells are not their original homes. Once, they were lost out there, prattling around in the waves – no armor to resist the barrage of the elements. Just fighting to survive. But eventually… they all manage to find new homes. Against all odds, they find a place to make their own.”

  Heror beamed at the words. Ucankacei set down the whelk once more, and then they carried on to the canoe, at the far end of the sandbar. They all boarded the wooden vessel – Ucankacei and Heror manning the oars at the front and the back, while Thaeolai sat in the middle. Then, with a push of the oars, they began the journey inland, following one of the saltwater inlets into the humid marshes.

  The shadows of the swamp smothered the fledgeling light of the Sun; all of a sudden, its glint was lost, and the memory’s colors muted. The soothing song of the waves grew faint, until there was no sound but the muddling pull of the oars through the soupy water. There were no bugs or crickets or cormorants. There was no wind. It was quiet. Only the oars spoke – condemned to their eternal struggle.

  Heror squinted as his eyes adjusted to the shadow. He stopped to wipe sweat off his brow, as the humid air purged his pores. He peered into the jungle, his eyes scraping through layers of darkened eucalyptus and ancient, sentried trunks. There was no sign of life – save for the ghoulish trees and drooping leaves chained to the blackened Aelyum by their many roots.

  Heror’s eyes drifted ahead, and he intended to ask where they were going – but when his gaze shifted, he saw that Thaeolai was no longer on the boat with them. Ucankacei sat at the head of the canoe, strangely idle, barely visible in the shaded mire. Only Heror paddled now; he felt the heavy tug of the slog. The silence picked at his ears. He smelled musk.

  “Ucankacei?” Heror asked with unease. “Where’s Thaeolai? Where did she go?”

  When Ucankacei answered, his voice was suddenly cold.

  “She’s gone.”

  The old man didn’t turn his head. He sat as if a statue. Young Heror tucked away the pounding of his heart and paddled farther into the silent dark.

  When Ucankacei spoke again, his voice was not his own.

  “The whelk… is a predator. It secretes stomach acid onto the surface of a mollusk’s shell. It bores a hole in the shell with its radula. Then it extends its proboscis and feasts on the flesh within. It consumes its prey until there is no more, and then – like a parasite – it invades and lives among the bones of its sin.”

  A white-ringed atlas moth fluttered across the bogged creek, glowing in the deep-shade. Heror paddled slower now. The water thickened. He leaned forward. He leaned right. He tried to see Ucankacei’s face. He could not.

  “Ucankace–”

  “So perhaps it is not so dissimilar from you.”

  A different voice. Twisted and heavy. Gravelly and low.

  Fear crept up Heror’s spine. His breath sought to flee.

  “What do you–”

  “You have imposed upon a family,” the once-Ucankacei went on fervently, still facing away. “A family cursed by untimely death. A curse you afflicted upon so many others. Would you be yet coddled by ignorance, or would you face the truth?”

  Heror lifted the oar again. Blood dripped from the edge.

  “You are a curse, Heror Heran. A harbinger of death.”

  The boy’s knuckles whitened as he tried to pull free. He couldn’t. He started to squirm.

  “A black omen.”

  “Please stop…” Young Heror whimpered.

  “A malediction–”

  “Ucankacei, please–”

  “Murderer.”

  “No!”

  “You are damned, and you condemn–”

  “P-please!”

  Tears streamed from Heror’s eyes, and he shrunk into the corner of the boat, dropping the oars at his sides. He hugged his arms close to his face and trembled.

  “I’m so sorry…” Heror cried softly. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

  “Heror.”

  Heror gasped. It was Ucankacei’s voice again.

  The boy sat up quickly and straightened his back. His hair stood on-end. He leaned forward again.

  “Y-yes? Ucankacei?”

  “Promise me this, Heror.”

  “Anything…” Heror pleaded.

  There was a pause. Ucankacei still did not face him. He sat as still as stone, at the front of the boat. And then, he turned his face just enough. So that Heror could see his shriveled skin, aged almost beyond recognition. So that Heror could see his black eyes and his vicious sneer.

  “Promise me you won’t forget,” the voice hissed.

  Heror crumbled against the stern: “W-what?”

  Ucankacei stomped to his feet and turned to face him, enraged.

  “You can’t forget!!”

  Now Ucankacei charged toward him with unnatural zeal and ferocity – thunderous steps rocking the canoe left and right as blood splashed and flecked and painted the swamp red. He brandished an Ardysi longsword. His black eyes screamed.

  “You can’t forget!!” the once-Ucankacei bellowed. “You can’t forget what you’ve done!! What you are!!”

  Heror scrambled to the boat’s edge, fingernails clawing at the wood.

  “That’s right!! Run!! Run like the coward you are!!”

  The rabid justiciar closed in, winding back its blade.

  “No matter how far you run… you can’t escape your judgment!!”

  Heror vaulted over the gunwale – just evading the saber’s searing tip – and fell into the river of blood.