A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia)

[Sören]

Sören made a gruff note of amusement, but thought it wiser not to answer the trap of a question. He saw no reason to mistrust her judgement on either score: such expertise had been the main reason for his extended invitation after all. Instead he watched her evaluate the shawl in her hands. Zhenya had always lamented how frugally Sören gave gifts. Though this wasn’t that; it was a practicality to stifle Kemala’s complaining, and failed in even that simple regard. He was gratified that she at least wound it about her shoulders, whatever sharp words cut her tongue like a fin scything water. He was learning to brush off her phrasing anyway. It seemed she could not breathe without it.

“You’re welcome,” he said pointedly, and only because of her earlier correction; if a game of manners mattered so much to her, he would not be shortchanged. Meanwhile his attention turned to the vista around them as the boat pushed off shore. The lake was impossibly vast, and he had little idea where the creature might dwell within it. Given Elias’ information, it seemed she had migrated this way; was not contained the way the beast in India had been contained. But Baikal had a thousand folk stories about monsters in the deep, and no clear indication of where one might look in earnest.

“Just head towards the middle, for now.” He could have wished for the Roopkund amulet as a failsafe, but if his speculations were correct it would have done him little good anyway. Kemala was the key to checking the manner of this particular lock. He paused to see if she might have complaint or comment, then turned his attention away. From the pocket of his jacket he pulled a square of fabric that he set on the boards between his feet. A handful of stones clinked and warmed in a palm before he let them trickle loose, and frowned down at the answer given.

[Kemala]

The heading fit with Sören’s general vagaries, but the lack of precise direction left Kemala captain of their destiny. She was rather unconcerned by the sudden command and steered into the breeze. The headwind made for a few small chops, but Kemala swayed naturally with the gentle throes. The banks were distant lines beyond the water with mountains in the background bare and lifeless. Water and boats and mountains and coasts were all so familiar in concept yet were all so very different from what she knew. She tried not to sigh.

A rattle drew her gaze to the boat’s floor. Sören had tossed pebbles at his feet, studying them quizzically. It was a strange habit, but Kemala was not one to dismiss oddities. She did however have something to say about it. ”You seem new to boating, so I will remind you of a cardinal rule. You generally want to keep rocks out of the bottom of your boat.”

[Sören]

Kemala seemed content with the boat’s captaincy, and Sören was content to elsewise pay their direction no mind. Silence would have been a fine companion to the cool winds cutting slices through his hair, but he didn’t suppose she would be capable of holding her equally sharp tongue for long. In that, at least, he was not disappointed. He gave her a mild glance, letting the thoughtful frown ease from his expression. The swaying underneath his feet did little for the efficacy of the stones. Else they did not like the company.

“They keep their answers anyway,” he said. A sign would have been comforting. Even the dream had been empty, before Nimeda showed. He clenched his jaw, retrieving them into the warmth of his palm. Eyes scanned the horizon for want of anything else to look at, but he recalled Roopkund had been like this too: an impenetrable mystery, until the trigger that ultimately spelled tragedy. Sören sighed a little, unsure if it was forbearance or acceptance on his part, and anchored his wandering gaze to the woman huddled at the head of the boat. She handled it as naturally as breathing, so he supposed at least some of what she had said last night must be true.

“I confess the creature eludes me. We are here, and I find myself unsure of what I must do next. This is your element, Kemala, have you any other wisdom to share?”

[Kemala]

If there were creatures that Kemala could command, they weren’t here. She may be able to summon a starfish. Maybe on a good day she could lure a prawn. Chasing meals wasn’t near the same as searching for mystery fish. A shrug signaled Kemala’s indifference. This was Soren’s errand. If they found what he searched for then it was all the better for him, but Kemala would be out little more than an afternoon. Even so, the boat ride was worth it.

She enjoyed the remainder of the ride to the middle of the lake. it took several minutes at full speed since the body of water was so large. Where it was narrow across, the length of the lake stretched farther than she could see. The locals (and the internet) said that the lake was deepest in the world. Who knew what lurked beneath the surface. She was intrigued, although she wouldn’t admit it to Soren.

Once they arrived, she slowed the speed to troll. There were gentle bobs and waves that made the water ride more like a lake than the wide rolling ebbs of the sea. She let the engine power down. Quiet settled like a cloud over their shoulders.

After some time sitting in silence, Kemala decided to power down the engine and float. She leaned aside eventually, casually letting her fingers trail along the surface of the water. It was cold and unwelcoming, and when she retracted, it was to sample the droplets from the tips of her fingers. The freshness was like drinking melted ice water.

She sighed and glanced at Soren like he was keeper of the magic that was suppose to happen next. When it was apparent that he was waiting just as much as she was, Kemala decided to move onward. She went to restart the engine, but it was dead.

[Sören]

She said nothing.

Sören was surprised she possessed the capability, and disappointed that whatever magical lure had seemed fused to her aura last night might only prove to be a veneer. He watched her a moment longer, but when it was clear she really would offer nothing he turned his attention out to the view. His elbows rested on his knees, one hand a cage around the other. The lap of waves held no real enticement; it was unlikely the creature would be glimpsed by some divine act of fate just because he was searching, but there was little else to focus on. Meanwhile he held the runes within easy grasp – it would only take a tightening of his fist to summon their wroth – but it was only in preparation. If Kemala called upon her gift he would recognise the feeling. And then they would see what happened.

At the lake’s centre she killed the engine, and they floated in the abyss. Many hundreds of miles lingered in impenetrable darkness below; a thousand possible secrets, but Sören was only interested in one. When the hum died the silence was palpable, not just to his ears, but to his bones. The gentle rock of the boat felt like a mockery. No wonder Elias Donovan had been so bitter at the search. There was so much emptiness here.

In the quiet that followed he found himself thinking about Declan. But it only hardened his jaw until he thought his teeth might crack with the pressure. Guilt made him brittle. Kemala was a poor companion by comparison.

He frowned down at the bowels of the boat. The scuffed tips of his boots. And moved on to considering ways he might encourage the experiment along when she leaned out over the edge, and Sören’s attention naturally followed. Impossible not to, there was nothing interesting to force his focus out here. Though if she was as cold as she claimed, a caress of the icy waters below seemed a remarkably stupid curiosity.

A comment callous and sharp bit the tip of his tongue in response, but when she brought her fingers to her mouth he said nothing. He was aware of his breathing, and not enamoured of the ties of attraction she knotted so easily around his wrists. But she only looked at him with an impatient demand for answers he did not yet have to give. Her sigh made him frown, and he fastidiously swallowed down his frustration with the judgement. She was the key. Just not one that could be swiftly turned.

And it seemed she was not the only one. The ignition lay utterly dead when she went to restart the engine. Sören gave her a mild look of blame, but seemed woefully unsurprised given his initial appraisal of her choice. At least it wasn't leaking yet. She’d only had one job.

“I know nothing of boats, Kemala.” He shrugged, much as she had dismissed his own questions earlier. “It seems you are stuck with me and my quest a while longer, unless you plan to swim back to shore. Though I believe the water is quite cold.” Sören did not smile, though he perhaps seemed amused. He did not look at her lips. Instead he flipped the straps on his pack to dig through the supplies he had spent the morning gathering while she had procured this pile of rusted bones. There was a thermos in here somewhere, and if she was not too unpleasant, he might even offer to share.

[Kemala]

He was easily spooked, she thought upon being the recipient of his indignation. Granted, he may be insane to not be distraught by the prospect that they were adrift without link to land. The shore was not so far as to be unswimmable, but they would both probably succumb to shock before reaching the edge such was the temperature. Even a northern man would be vulnerable, and Sören lacked the blubber of insulation one needed to survive. Indeed, he was quite scrawny. He was unlikely to last long if they were dunked overboard.

Luckily, they had no such need. The boat did not come with paddles, but there was a reason Kemala did not bother with paying the extra safety fee. Their mode of transportation was within her heart. All she required was the hollow shell in which they floated.

When she dipped her fingers into the water a second time, a warmth flooded her bones. The stirring of Baikal’s waters was all it took to rile her soul, and moments later, the boat was nudged forward. It left a gentle ripple in its wake despite the quietude of the engine.

“The most important part of a boat is to not leak. I manage the rest," she said with the air of a teacher to her pupil, and onward they trolled. Although she kept one arm stretched out over the edge, it was so that her palm seemed to sweep above the water’s surface. Touching it was enough to sustain the Light within, but the connection that was formed was one she did not like to relinquish. It felt like flying.

[Sören]

His skin rippled with discomfort, and not from the cool winds across the lake. Something in Sören’s attention sharpened, but not to Kemala’s words. He abandoned his search through the bag in favour of scouring the placid waters around them. The runes rushed into his grip, and with it his senses roared to bright life. Tension held him taut for a few moments more before his gaze returned to the woman opposite, as if to assure himself she really was using the power. Her fingers trailed languidly. The engine was still silent. His expression flickered with the possibility of being wrong, and he grunted in dismissive irritation.

Then the boat beneath them shuddered. A thunk hit the wood, broke splinters beneath his feet, like they had been speared from below.

“Skitprat,” he muttered. His palm pressed down, jaw hard. The sharp point receded with a wrench, sending them rocking. A weak spurt of ice-cold water gurgled between his fingers. The runes circled fiercely, but he was not sure he had the time to manage the repairs and protect them at the same time. He did not yet check for Kemala’s reaction. She had defended against the rage of a tsunami and intimated knowledge of arcane strength. He required her to hold her own. At least for a moment.

“Visa dig själv!” he yelled. Somewhere close the water frothed into a frenzy. The arc of a tentacle rose.

[[translations: "shit" and "show yourself"]]

[Kemala]

Now Kemala was feeling rather smug. She did not need to look askance to know that Soren was sulking. She could practically feel it.

The light shone from within. The water sprayed the tips of her fingers. For a moment, she was happy.

Then their boat thunked on something hard. She rocked with it, gasping at the sudden lurch. The cracking of wood sounded panic in her ears, and she looked with some equal measure of shock and confusion at what pierced the hull. A rock? A limb? So far from shore?

The light remained, but the threads that pushed them dissipated. The boat slowed to a stop, then the object was wrenched out and in its place bubbled up icy water.

Eyes wide as saucers, she moved swiftly toward it. The light made a plug that she seemed to want to hold with the palm of her hands. Her fingers were ice, but barely an inch had flooded in. It held, but as she whipped around to understand what happening, a spike of worry made her wonder if another piercing arrow was about to thrust through the flesh of her palm next.

“What?” she hissed at Soren. His language fell flat to her, but the anger of curses was universal. He stared at what lifted from the water. Kemala was no fool. She stared also, fixed upon the innumerable suckers of its underbelly tentacle. “An octopus in this?” she asked herself more than him, who was likely to be less than helpful. 

The Energy of Wind held the hole, and she scrunched her eyes shut, trying to do the same and sweep the boat away from the creature, but try as she might, the extra Energies slipped from grasp. The frustration writ her face anger as she turned it upon Soren. "Well north man?! I hope you hid sword or something under that coat of yours!"

[Sören]

Kemala’s fingers replaced his own. The water through the hole was frigid, zipping a chill up his arms.

“No,” he snapped to her question of what it was. Irritated. Had the woman listened to nothing he had said last night? They were rocking wildly, but he left her to the hull’s care. “We do not need a sword,” he scoffed. His fist tightened, though the rune’s powers already frenzied in his blood. They thrust down in an effort to steady them, as a wave crashed over the edge. Sören grunted at the drench of ice.

Meanwhile what rose from the frothing waves he was surprised to see possessed a humanoid shape. A she. Her skin was loathsome green, the scales across her body dissected in jagged lines of red and black. Spikes erupted from her skull, and tentacles writhed behind. From the violent waves churning endless beneath them he dare not dwell over how big she must be beneath the surface. It would take only one of those thick tentacles to cleave them in two. But it was a clawed hand that rose, gripping the thick-shaft of some weapon he had no intention of allowing the monster to bring to aim. Lips snarled. Its glossy black eyes were focused entirely on Kemala.

An arc of blood sprayed as the whip of runes bit deep into her exposed flesh. The creature’s piercing scream severed any notion of humanity; it chilled his blood. Sören moved to block the creature’s sight of his companion, though clearly it was not the manner in which it hunted.

Power coalesced for another attack. Yet he could not kill it. If he did the body would be lost forever, and what it guarded with it.

“Stop what you’re doing with the runes, Kemala. Drop them now.”

[Kemala]

The thing that lifted from the surface of the water was certainly not like any octopus she’d ever seen. Her eyes were wide as moons. Her mouth just as gaped. A similar reaction captured her when she first beheld the nāgarāja. He was a creature who was both snake and human, and quite startling for a recovering tsunami victim to wake to. This was something similar in concept, except for snakes and men it was octopuses and women. If she wasn’t so afraid, Kemala would be in awe.

The boat was rocking by the stormy disturbance of the water’s surface. The little vessel swayed violently, but Kemala naturally counterbalanced the motions, hoping it would help to steady it lest the water tip over the edge. Suddenly, it simply fell to stillness. She guffed with the forceful stabilization, unnatural as it was. Then water did slosh the edge and spilled over her shoes. They quickly soaked through to the toes and she winced for the temperature.

When next she looked, the woman was focused entirely on her. It sent chills through her body that had nothing to do with the frigid Baikal waters. She lifted a weapon and Kemala was all but frozen to react.

The Energies wavered. Then again, something unexplained happened. Soft, fishy flesh was unleashed by an arc of blood. The scream pierced her soul, and Kemala was so afraid she could barely move but to look up at what her boat mate was doing. His face was wrenched with anger and violence. She looked back once more and the sudden epiphany for what must be happening dislodged fear in exchange for an entirely different emotion.

She was pissed.

Then Sören started barking orders at her. Like he was captain of this boat?

She grumbled, “What does that mean? Runes,” she struggled to say the foreign word.

He snapped a response, “The light, the power, whatever you used to move the damn boat.”

“Why?! You’re using it!” her accusation was pointed. But the look on his face when he next found her gaze made her begrudgingly comply.

“Just don’t let us sink! I’m not swimming your giant man-trunk back to shore,” she huffed and released the Energy.


((With Sören))