The southern bank of the river is only a short walk away now. In the flat of the valley, it’s harder to see, but the pleasant burble of running water grows louder as we near. The sun has begun its descent toward the western hills, its honeyed halo hiding beneath a sheet of gossamer clouds. We have an hour, maybe two, before it sets.

I can’t believe we’ve spent nearly a day in this game already. I can’t believe this is a game at all. Sure, I can pull up my stats and read quest logs, but all of this hiking and sweating seems decidedly un-gamelike. I’ve already had to piss in the bushes twice, and I’ve never seen that in a game manual.

According to the fisherman’s wife, the isle’s one and only town should lie in a field just beyond the river, so we should make it there before nightfall. I keep checking Luci’s wrist for the token of entrance we were gifted, but I don’t need to; she frequently taps on the white stone and tugs on the leather band of her own accord. So long as we hold onto that, remember the words that get us into town, and make it across the river, we’ll be great. If not, we’ll be stuck in the dark without a light, wandering blindly in search of an invisible town that might magically move across the isle by morning.

Hopefully our resident boy scout knows how to make a fire with shoelaces and a stick ‘cause otherwise it’s gonna get cold. And I’m chilly as it is. If only I were a prepper or a survivalist. I seriously thought about it during Covid times: get a go-bag, buy a shelter, read some basic how-to guides. Hell, the least I could do was make a first aid kit. Best I did was Uber some bandaids. Oops.

Aside from the logistics, I’m not too afraid of camping out in the middle of nowhere, but I worry that if we don’t make it to Glasbaile, we might not nab the visa quest before the other participants do - in which case, I don’t know what our options are. Die? Join them? Kill them?

That and I’m not all that well-versed in camping. I’m a born city girl, if that wasn’t obvious already. I’m used to beds and take-out and walls that protect me from bugs and ice cold beer, though I’ll happily go for a big ol’ pint of whatever backwater ale they sell in Glasbaile.

My stomach rumbles. It must be pretty loud because Elias swings his bag around and offers me a hunk of hard cheese that Luci swindled from the fisherman’s wife.

“Oh! Thanks.” I side-eye the bag.

“We ate all the sausage,” he says.

“Damn.”

Éogan steps off the road and onto a thin path trampled through the grass. “The current should be fine this way.”

“Is the river wide?” Luci asks.

“It isn’t,” he replies.

“How deep? Knee-high? Chest-high?”

He gestures to the cinch around his tunic. “Here, so. At the worst.”

“And what about the monster?”

The boy stumbles over a rock and quickly rights himself. “What’s that now?”

“We were told there’s a monster in the river?”

“Ohhh, right,” he replies, picking at the hood of his mantle. “I’ve heard the like, but that’s only an old fisherman’s tale.”

“Really? ‘Cause with our luck, I’m pretty positive we can’t get to town without fighting something gross.”

“Sure as I can be. Why, where’d you hear it?”

Luci grumbles. “A fisherman.”

The boy smirks.

I trip over my feet as my dumb shoelaces snag on a twig. It’s been less than thirty seconds, and I miss the road already. The bottom of my yoga pants are riddled with burs, their nasty little hooks digging through the fibers and into my skin. My arm itches, and I react by slapping at a gnat that probably doesn’t even exist. God, I’m such a city girl.

Lagging behind, Elias plucks a thin white reed from the grass. He flicks it back and forth, then tosses it to the ground. “What fisherman’s tale have you heard, Éogan?”

“Oh, nothin’ worth a fit, so. Big slimy beast gobbling up anyone who dares cross. After the fogs came, folks burned the bridges to stop us fleeing to Glasbaile. I’ll bet they fed rumors of a river monster for the same cause.”

Luci gapes. “They burned the bridges? Who would do that?”

“Eh. Townsfolk that didn’t want to share, like. Disciples of the sorcerer for nothin’ but a spot of fun. Fishermen and farmers who didn’t want their way of life goin’ out.”

Kneeling, Elias snatches up another white reed. When he sees me notice, he hands it to me. It’s a couple of feet long, thin as hair, and bendable - like a plastic broom bristle. I look back at Elias who taps his cheek.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“A whisker,” he mouths.

“A whisker?” I mouth back.

“Anyhow, the tale spread and you know how fishermen are like to exaggerate,” Éogan continues. “A slimy black beast with a flat toothy snout and a scream like a banshee. Swims faster than a fish, shimmies smooth as a snake. Now the beast chases the ghost of Glasbaile, ready to feast.” He smiles cheekily. “And so on and so forth.”

“Uh-huh,” Luci replies.

Ahead of us, the river gurgles, and a white splash crests over the distant bank. When Luci startles, the boy cackles loudly. “I’m only coddin’ ya! They also say there’s a manky salmon who knows everything and that boiling water makes trout appear. You can’t trust the fibs of fishermen. And if the beastie’s real, you have the blades to handle it. Or bow.” He looks at Ron. “Wait. What weapon’s he have again?”

“Huh? Oh!” Ron jerks a thumb at the gittern on his back. “This!”

“Music?” Éogan asks incredulously.

“Not music, my dude! Music never hurt no one. But this…” He hoists the gittern off his back and swings it like a bat, grinning like a madman.

The boy looks to the rest of us. “Right. Well, you could use him as bait.”

Luci stifles a laugh. The boy smiles, and her face takes on the slightest tinge of pink.

Uh oh. Looks like someone’s got her first video game crush.

I spare a look at her uncle. His brow is furrowed in thought, and his face is pinched like he’s biting the inside of his cheeks. Yeah, I don’t think he’s happy about that.

Ron is also looking a little miffed. Big guy’s got a big heart, and he seems pretty intent on making sure Luci’s doesn’t get broken. I guess we’re all feeling rather protective of the kid, whether she needs it or not.

Soon, the surface of the river fully reemerges. From this angle, the water is less like a silver serpentine gleam and more of a dull gray expanse. It’s forty feet across at most and who-knows how deep. So long as it really isn’t anymore than waist-high, the current should be okay. We’ll just have to trust the kid on that one.

On the other side, the muddy bank slopes up into an even line of mottled grass. It’ll be a bitch to climb. Of course if there’s an enemy, I could teleport to it. I wonder what counts as an enemy. For instance, I count mosquitos as enemies. Just saying.

As we reach the water’s edge, Éogan slows his pace, his shoulders tense.

Luci gasps.

The reeds leading up from the river have been snapped and flattened. Something stomped through them, crushing the rocks beneath and churning the dirt into sticky mud. There are tracks, though god knows what they are. All I can say is that they’re about three times bigger than mine.

I step closer toward the river, just enough to get a peek. While I try to aim for the drier patches, I feel my socks dampen as my gym shoes squelch in the muck. Gross. So gross.

There’s about a three-foot drop down a steep muddy slide into the water. Lining the river are chunky lumps of rotten fish and mangled bones, all stewing in a yellow film that froths along the bank.

Just then, a thick pungent waft of air fills my nostrils with the stink of wet fur, spoiled meat, and the most fetid fishy shit I’ve ever had the displeasure of smelling.

I follow the scent upriver where there stands a pile of feces as high as my knees. A half-chewed boot sticks out of the sludgy mountain like a flag, a waterlogged foot still wedged inside.

Spinning around, Elias levels his axe at the boy. The odor is so bad, he visibly gags. “Talk.”

Éogan inches back, his boots sinking into the muck. “It’s a pile of shite. Could be a horse.”

“You’re lying,” Elias replies.

The boy frowns. “You’re bleedin’ judgemental for a man with a metal leg.” He turns to Luci. “Is he always like this?”

In a small, exasperated voice, she asks, “Are you lying?”

“No! I swear to Mary, I don’t know of any monster.” Éogan grabs her wrist, but she wrenches it back and glares.

Warily, the boy peers over his shoulder into the murky gray of the river, one hand fiddling with the sheathe at his waist. The water gently laps against the muddy bank in a pleasant, sleepy rhythm. A few minnows spot his shadow and dart under the rocks. A cloud passes over, taking its shadow with it, and the river glistens - just for a moment - before the cloud cover blankets the valley in gray once more.

Mud erodes beneath his heels. He tries to move, but Elias blocks the way.

“Tell us the truth.”

“I am!”

Luci picks at the feathered fletching sticking out from her quiver. “Éogan, we can tell you’re not. Come on. What do you know?”

“I… Ah, sure, look,” the boy relents. “I had an inkling the tale might be true, but that’s it. I swear it.”

Nearby, a busied wave slops against the side. A bubble blooms to the surface, then pops like a blister. Another pocket of bubbles rises and bursts.

Something lurks in the depths, and it’s getting closer.

I find my hands sitting on the handles of my daggers, ready to draw. Beside me, Luci slides an arrow from her quiver and steadies her bow - but she’s not looking at the river.

Éogan pales. “Fine! Yes! There’s a bleedin’ monster, there is. I didn’t know if I could cross the waters myself. But I had in mind that, well, perhaps if you distracted it…”

“You planned to use us as bait,” Elias remarks flatly. He’s still, his eyes emotionless, his forehead smooth of those telltale consternated wrinkles. He doesn’t look upset at all which somehow makes it far more menacing.

“Well, you see, ‘bait’ is a strong word,” the boy falters.

Elias shifts his battleaxe into his left hand. “No. The word seems suitable to me.”

And he shoves the boy into the river.

With a splash, the water consumes him. White crests fume as the kid fumbles. Legs and arms flail. Finally, he manages to roll onto his feet. Wiping the water from his eyes, he doesn’t give us a second glance. He books it for the opposite bank. As the river ripples at his thighs, he kicks his legs high in a frantic dash towards safety.

Downstream, a black shape slithers beneath the surface.

“Tío Elias!” shouts Luci as she dashes toward the edge.

He sets his jaw. “It was the right move,” he argues.

“No, that’s not what- He stole the bracelet!”