Kiravi's Travelogue

Well, everyone, first things first. Sorry for the long, long hiatus. Life caught up and happened (and happened and happened), and a whole mountain of shit cascaded down all at once. Long story short, the RifkinMacdonald brand dropped one co-author and picked up another.

As for this series (and some others) we've decided to at least give bona fide publishing a college try, and to also heavily, heavily overhaul the story and the characters in doing so. That being said: our followers and commenters and readers on here are a huge part of what kept a fire burning to even write and at all, keep writing, and eventually come back here to it today. So we're going to finish publishing this grand arc here to at least grant some measure of closure to the dangling predicament we left you in. It won't be nearly as polished as you're used to, as we focus on our still-very-hectic life and new projects, but we hope you enjoy it regardless.

Kiravi

We were, dear readers, well and truly fucked.

The four tribes shambled down to the river's mouth--all of them. No elders or children remained in the village, nor did anyone leave any prized possessions in the half-repaired huts. The Gavicans, apparently, delighted in stealing whatever they could find while the tribes went on the Great Hunt.

That wasn't why I figured we were doomed, no. As we splashed and sloshed at the edge of the mudflats and the swirling estuary where river met sea, the entirety of the Gavican people stood on the cliffs and rocks above and around us--hundreds of them, maybe more than a thousand, all plump and well-muscled. Men and women, elders and children; all sneered at our passing, but maintained the most disturbing silence that I could imagine.

The boats, such as they were, were laid up under a series of poorly-kept awnings. Flotsam from spring floods or offshore storms lay piled around them, and the best sailors the Kroyu and the other tribes boasted rushed ahead to assess the craft that would be our home for at least the next few days. More Gavicans waited amongst the rocks surrounding our boats, and yet another group stood armed watch over the craft the Gavicans would, apparently, use to follow us onto the seas.

Leotie had told us, with cold sweat running down her spine, about the murders she'd witnessed. Not a day had gone by that my desire to take my mates and flee hadn't grown, and that day was no different. But we were under the gaze of the enemy now, literally, and I had to do whatever was best to get me and mine out from underneath them. I found myself wondering if the Undying One was up there in the rocks, staring down at us and deciding how he could carve us up.

Soon we were afloat with the receding tide, the achingly cold water splashing onto us and over the gunwales of the long tomol, the Gavican name for the craft. For their age and poor condition, I was still amazed by their quality. They weren't chopped and burned dugouts, like the ones we'd used to float down the Seleyo. Individual planks had been shaped and warped into a streamlined shape before being sewn together with sinew and rope. Water only came in over the sides every time we sliced through a breaking wave, and even then, it was easy enough for us to bail it out with hide buckets.

I was crammed into one of the leading tomols with a few hunters and some of the younger adults who seemed still to be searching for their role in the tribes, and each of us rowed desperately to make it past the sucking surf. Serina was ensconced there with the sick, injured, and infirm from the other tribes. When I looked back, she was tending to a fussing baby even as she held wet rags to the brow of the child's feverish mother. The larger tomols seemed to huddle close together like nervous llamas, while the hunters and anyone else who was healthy ranged further ahead. Leotie was in the next canoe over, clutching to the gunwales for dear life and gritting her teeth against the nausea I'm sure was already crashing over her.

Once we cleared the surf, the rowers settled into a rhythm without a word, and I found myself marveling at the way we sliced through the water. We curved past a handful of slick, black rocks before I saw the first true islet emerge from the spray and morning mist. It was high enough from the waves that shrubs or even trees probably could have found purchase there, but instead it played host to scores of basking seals.

They perked up as we rowed towards them, stretching their necks to regard us with huge black eyes. A few of the larger males barked at us like angry guard dogs, but the great mass of slick brown fur didn't otherwise respond to our presence. I reached for the long, thin dart Leotie had given me, but Moha quietly admonished me, "Not yet, mage. We won't be stopping here."

Feeling foolish, I picked my paddle back up and struggled to rejoin the rhythm of the other rowers, "Why not?"

"We would have to process the animals ashore," he responded, peering out through the fog, "and take our cut before the Gavicans catch up. Too little time. These animals are safe. From us, anyway."

I looked back to see if the Gavicans had even gotten down to their boats, but the mist already shrouded the shore. We passed more rocks and slick, black islets covered in more seals. Struggling to keep the flotilla together, the more experienced sailors, the ones manning the tillers of the tomols, yipped and called to each other in the mist. Completely out of my element, I tried my best just to keep quiet and row. Of all the time spent on this long journey, I'd only felt as useless and out of control when dealing with the blood fever.

One of the leading crews called back to us, and Moha steered us towards a hazy silhouette ahead. The currents had changed, and we fought through more choppy surf. A significant island suddenly loomed over us out of the mist, and this time all of the tomols sliced forward towards it.

Black cliffs climbed up from equally dark sand beaches, beaches covered in another mass of seals. The moment I looked at it, I felt as though I was looking at an unstable rock pile liable to collapse at any moment. Deep, moss-filled cracks slashed through the cliffs and spider-webbed in every direction. Beyond the shores, a crook-backed peak disappeared into low clouds, and I caught a glimpse of a vine-choked, shrubby carpet of green that clung to the dark rocks of the interior and the teetering mountain. As we approached, we had to steer around a massive rockslide that almost formed a natural pier, leaving a yawning gap in the cliff face.

Moha barked commands to us rowers again, and we slewed at an angle to the beach and slowed. Waves crashed against my side of the tomol, and I cursed bitterly in two languages as I was soaked to the bone. I fought down the urge to question Moha, especially as I saw the way that the hunter tomols quickly spread across the face of the beach in a broad arc. When one of the other bands' chieftains shouted another command, Moha pointed us back towards the coast and ordered us forward.

The great basking mass of seals suddenly heaved to life in a cacophony of surprised barks, and I was impressed by the Kroyu's tactics and skill. "Fast! Fast!" Moha bellowed much louder than I thought he was capable of. "Pull! Your bellies will be full soon enough!"

Everywhere a tomol leapt towards the shore, the panicked seals awkwardly hopped inland. Between our craft, the animals splashed into the surf, safe from our darts and spears. My muscles burned and ached, but we easily sliced through the last of the foaming waves until the tomol's prows hissed into the black sand.

Leotie's tomol had arrived just ahead of us, and she and the other hunters were already piling out of the craft. She and Niknik stumbled, suddenly unsteady on land, but the other hunters swarmed forward and towards the panicking seals hopping inland. The half-starved hunters yipped with excitement, and the seals bellowed and barked their outrage, making the air almost tangible with noise.

I awkwardly threw my paddle aside and rolled over the tomol's gunwale. My blood thundered in my ears, and the cold surf splashed around my ankles. Moha was somehow ahead of me already, and I sprinted to catch up to him and Niknik as they plunged into the heaving pass of animals.

A hunter yipped louder than the others, plunging his dart into a fleeing seal, and the beast gasped and shuddered as it died. The others followed suit, all up and down the sandy shore, darts and spears seeking out the panicking animals. I saw Leotie, half-recovered, hurl her dart into a roaring bull seal, with Niknik racing in to finish it off.

I dove into the killing ground after Moha and the unfamiliar hunters, searching for a target. It was hard to pick out any single beast, and I was firmly reminded that my place was not in the wilderness, hunting for my own food. Frustrated, I picked out the next thing I saw and hurled the unfamiliar dart at my target.

Only, dear readers, to watch it glance off a black boulder and clatter away.

Moha appeared at my side, a wry smile on his face. "A good effort, mage. Maybe it's best if you just keep any more from getting to the sea."

My face burned with embarrassment, but he had a point. "I can do that." So, I took up a cheap spear from the tomol and waited between our craft and the next one over, jabbing at any of the seals that tried to flee the hunters and forcing them back into the killing ground.

Within minutes, that first hunt was over. Without my really noticing, the other tomols had landed ashore, and the rest of the tribespeople hurried to their tasks. Everyone seemed to know what to do without any need for barked orders, leaving me awkwardly standing amongst the carnage and the red-tinged surf. The hunters dragged their kills into neat rows or retrieved salvageable darts and arrows. Matrons and maidens and elders rushed through the foaming surf, already pulling flint knives and other tools from their belts. Anyone with nothing else to do started to drag the tomols further up the beach, saving them from the current. Being otherwise useless but possessing my regained strength, that's where I went.

I grunted, muscles in my arms straining, but managed to haul the tomol across the slick rocks. Gohika and Leotie scrabbled down to the tomol beside me, breeches splattered with blood, and I did the same. The air thrummed with energy, even though there were few actual words spoken between the tribesmen, and the surviving seals made no more noise than the splash of their fins in the waves.

Why are we rushing?" I asked, hefting another tomol away from the ocean's grasp.

Gohika nodded his quilled head toward the eastern horizon. I saw nothing there but the thinning mist and wave-lashed rocks, and I said as much. He shook his head and rattled his quills, "The Gavicans will come soon. When, exactly, I don't know. The moment we see them, we must go."

Leotie growled angrily but said nothing. As much as she was enraged by the Gavican ways, I figured she was just as upset to have to return to the tomols. Again, with nothing good that I could do, I lingered at the edge of the surf and peered towards the east or up at the broken island. Leotie knew how to process animals, so she and Gohika scurried back up to butcher the beasts as quickly as possible.

A strange twinge rippled along my spine, not quite making it to the not-place of my conduit. I tried to quiet my mind and feel the magical winds around me, but felt nothing more than the constant, prickling pressure I'd come to associate with the Choked Sea. When I took in the world around me, though, I began to understand where my discomfort stemmed from.

Hundreds of big black eyes stared at us from the cold surf, the seals that escaped our attack treading water beyond the breaking waves. I hadn't noticed them before, but the cliffs were swarming with sea birds, and now they crowded amongst the rocks and glared down at us as well. But they didn't squawk or screech at us, not yet. They just watched.

"Kiravi," Serina's soft voice broke me loose from my thoughts, "They told us that this is what they eat before the Gavicans catch up." She held something out towards me, holding something similar close to her breast with her other hand. The slick, dark seal kidneys dripped blood onto the sand and our sandaled feet.

I looked over her shoulder at the mass of desperate tribespeople. Those who had been the closest to death had stopped their work and sat or knelt on the sand, greedily eating the raw and steaming organs. "They know best, I suppose," I said, taking the warm morsel from her. A smile crossed my face, thinking of the noble life I'd left behind in Anghoret and the family or instructors I knew would turn their noses up at this meal.

"Did you ever think you'd be somewhere like here?" She asked, reading my mind. Sometimes I wondered if she really could, after all of her growing changes.

I found myself hungry after so many days of effort and took a massive bite from the gift. "No, I didn't," I said, mouth full, "Did you?"

She smiled brilliantly at me before eagerly eating her own meal. "Of course not. I thought I'd live and die in Wakh, married to some shepherd with a dozen children." She laughed, but her eyes bored into mine with a sparkling warmth I suddenly realized I'd been desperately missing. This was the most words we'd said to each other since that terrible night in the village.

The kidney tasted of metal, and the texture was more than a little off-putting, but we were hungry, and we trusted the Kroyu on this, at least. "Well, I suppose I could give you one of those things," I smirked at her. The words tumbled out of me, their message surprising me as much as they did Serina.

She laughed, giggled really, and I remembered how beautiful that sound was. She shoved me gently on the chest and gave a sly smile, which was only slightly jarring with the blood streaking her chin. "I never knew you wanted to be a shepherd, Kiravi." I feigned surprise, and she laughed before her smile became both more thoughtful and genuine. "Maybe some day, Kiravi, when we find somewhere a bit...quieter," she closed her glowing eyes and sighed. "But that's up to us, isn't it? We were so close, this winter. We could make this place quieter, I think." Her smile grew thoughtful without being mournful, "A dozen children, Kiravi...that seems like a lot for you. You nobles only need one heir."

"What noble?" I teased, determined to keep the mood lighter despite the misery I wanted to wallow in. She had that effect on me. "I'm just a qhatuq and a mage, now. As for the dozen children, well, it's the practicing for it that I'm looking forward to."

She giggled again and stretched up to peck me on the cheek, "We'll get out of this, lover. I trust you. I just want to help the Kroyu get out of it, too." With her small hand on my chest, she turned to look back at the tribes and the carcasses laid out under the dim clouds. I wanted to agree with her earnest words and felt cracks appearing in my fortified, angry view of the situation we found ourselves in. However, I still wasn't ready to look any further than rescuing just my mates and my own miserable hide. Selfish and childish, I know, but I was indeed both selfish and childish at that age.

Any more thoughts on the subject died on my lips when a shrill screech cut through the sounds of the surf and the wet chopping and slicing of the butchering. All at once, the seabirds above and around us squawked in response and took off from their roosts to scatter all through the misty morning. The surviving seals barked a raucous chorus and turned the sea into angry foam as they swam away.

I looked up reflexively and saw the single, huge silhouette of a hohol circling over our island. Suppressing the desire to launch a blast of magic at the distant target, I settled instead for a string of vicious cursing under my breath. Then I remembered my simple task amongst the Kroyu and whipped my head back towards the east.

Scores of tomols sliced towards our beach, tall and broad Gavic hunters standing in the prows to search for us.

"They're here!" I bellowed in the Kroyu tongue. "Gavic is here!"

"To the boats!" Tukyo roared over the suddenly noisy animals and the panicked murmuring from the tribespeople, "Grab what you can and go! Leave the rest!" The other tribal chieftains shouted the same orders, and the beach transformed into a milling, splashing mess.

Somehow, I managed to find my way back to the right Tomol after getting Serina into hers. With much grunting and splashing, all our tomols cut back into the surf and hurried away, leaving the rows of half-butchered seals, ready to be stolen by the unworthy Gavicans. But, either way, we escaped the looming fleet. When I asked Moha what would have happened if we'd lingered, he answered only with a stony glare and a curt shake of his head.

The smooth and seamless way we'd launched ourselves at the beach made the bumbling way we fled the island all the more disheartening. We spent the rest of the afternoon carving west from that unnamed island and further into the Choked Sea. We passed dozens of rocks and islets but stopped at none of them, especially since it took us hours to re-separate the hunters from the larger tomols. Then, of course, a storm piled down on us from the south and soon turned the sea into a heaving, dangerously churning opponent.

Rain lashed at us and forced us to take turns between paddling and bailing water from between our feet with tightly woven baskets. Though not as severely as Leotie, the churning sea made my head swim and my stomach ache. A larger tomol swamped and overturned as we rounded a tangled collection of rocks, and we only managed to pull half of its occupants from the dark waters. With the sun not only shrouded by rain and clouds but also setting, Tukyo had the unenviable task of finding somewhere, anywhere, for us to shelter for the night.

At risk of completely losing light to navigate by, Tukyo gave up and ordered us onto a low islet dotted with shrubs, vines, and sun-bleached driftwood. Those amongst us with magic stretched our abilities to the limit, casting light into stones and branches to help the tribes see what they were doing. We dragged the tomols ashore and tipped them over to make shelters against the wind and rain, and I pulled just a little more magic through my conduit and down my fingers to light some fires amongst the rain-soaked driftwood. The matrons passed out whatever organs and choice meat they'd managed to cut from the seals, followed by a greasy stew they cooked from a handful of whole carcasses that they'd loaded in their tomols for that very purpose. Despite the miserable setting, many of the non-Kroyu seemed as happy and sated as I'd ever seen them.

Quiktu invited me to the cluster of Tomols and hide tarps the elders used, staving off Tukyo's grumbles with a sharp look. "Where will we go next?" The Yemuk chieftain, a pale blue full-Bhakhuri named Tepu, asked the group generally, but Tukyo specifically. I didn't know anything for sure, but I felt as though Tukyo had earned a place as some sort of chief among chiefs, either through age or the greater size of the Kroyu band compared to the other tribes. "We could go towards the south, to the Obsidian islands. More seals there. Today's haul was good," he spoke around mouthfuls of another piece of raw seal Offal. "But we need more before we return."

Tukyo ruminated on that, but shook his head slowly. "More seals, yes. But fewer places to camp, and more likely we'll see another storm too." His eyes flicked towards me, "More likely we'd hit Anghoreti fisherman, too. I think we go northwest to the Otter Strand."

Tepu and a few others grumbled, "The Gavicans are giving us no time this year, cousin. We will get a better haul from the seals than the otters, and faster too."