Rosaliy
Coughing up tiny bits of shattered rock and choking dust out of her lungs, Rosaliy wound up splayed on a sandy beach, still clutching the travel stone in her pocket. The night was dark, and the beach was abandoned, so Rosaliy scrambled for the nearest cover in view—a long pier. As she tried to catch her breath and calm her pounding heart, she jumped at every sound of creaking wood, certain the Flifary had followed her. When her body settled down to adrenaline levels where she was not expecting imminent death, she chastised herself for her useless paranoia; the sounds were clearly coming from the damp wood of the pier being hit by the ocean waves glimmering in the dark distance. This had not gone at all as anticipated, but Rosaliy was free of the Flifary for now, and Drake was with Daniella. Since Daniella knew right where her stone had sent Rosaliy, they would be quick to find her.
Rosaliy curled up on the gritty sand while she waited under the pier. Daniella always planned twelve steps ahead. She would have a travel stone of her own. Maybe they would think to bring food and water and a change of clothes. The salty, fishy smell of this beach still could not drown out the putrid rotting smell of the dried potion Iketa had doused her in. She wanted so badly to find a bed and a vat full of warm, soapy water, but she had no money, knew no one in Bayselle, and she feared losing Drake and Daniella if she strayed from the meeting spot. Why weren’t they here yet?
Water washed up on the empty shore in front of her. It may not have been a bath, but it was better than remaining coated in slime. Fully clothed, because the night was reasonably warm and her clothes were beyond hope, she waded into the cool water. The water was salty and no good for drinking, but it was good for scrubbing off dried ooze. She ventured out far enough to dip her head under water and properly scrub her crusted hair. Even though the water kept rolling back into shore, it was slowing pulling her further out into the ocean. Certainly the water was too shallow this close to shore for dangerous sea-beasts, but Rosaliy could fit what she knew about ocean topography in a thimble, so she thought it best not to venture too far. She swam back to shore and wrung out her wet clothes to the best of her abilities. The salt water stung her eyes, and she felt more cold than clean, but at least she was alert again.
She heard voices on the pier above her and froze. More accurately, she was shivering but otherwise motionless.
“Tell us where he is,” a male voice threatened.
“I—don’t—know,” shot back another voice, defiant and annoyed. This voice was very familiar. Rosaliy scrambled to place it but came up with nothing definitive. She had been so many places and met so many new people in the past week.
“We—don’t—believe—you,” a female voice sneered.
“Look, even if I did know where Drake was, I wouldn’t tell you, but it’s not a problem, because I don’t know.”
Drake? Had he just said Drake?
“Ok,” sighed the female voice. “He wants to be difficult. I think he needs some extra motivation.”
The second man gave a little cry, and what Rosaliy assumed were his feet appeared over the edge of the tall pier, dangling in the air.
“Stop!” called Rosaliy before she had thought through how well getting involved was going to end for her.
The woman and the man both leaned over the edge of the pier to squint at her in the dark. Their poor victim dangled over the water, his attacker still gripping his shirt in both hands. The whole ordeal looked precarious and uncomfortable.
“Who’re you?” called the woman.
The more attention she called to herself, the easier she would be to track down. “It’s not important,” Rosaliy snapped back. “Put him down.”
“Oh, you want him, do you?” laughed the man, swinging his captive out further.
“I think Cliff here gets the point,” muttered the woman, deciding Rosaliy was nothing to worry about. “Cough Drake up by sunset tomorrow, or you’ll get more than a little wet.”
The man released Cliff, and he dropped like a rock, disappearing under the water with a mighty splash. He bobbed to the surface and flailed for shore. Rosaliy ran to help him.
“Thanks,” he coughed, accepting her help out of the water. He stomped a little ways onto the beach and glared at the retreating pair above. Rosaliy realized this was Drake’s friend. She did know someone in Bayselle. Unfortunately, that one person might have been worse off than she was.
“What was that all about?” asked Rosaliy.
“Bullies being bullies,” he groused. “Nothing more.”
It seemed like more. “I might be able to find him,” she suggested, attempting to sound like this was no big deal. “Drake, that is.”
“Even if I could contact him, I’d never rope him into doing work for the Crocs,” complained Cliff, wringing out his shirt.
“It sounds like you’re in some trouble, though,” suggested Rosaliy carefully.
“What’s new?” he sighed. “More and more merchants are standing up to them, and they’re lashing out, holding on to whatever they can.” He actually shook his fist in the direction of the shore to punctuate his words. Then he looked over at her, and his hand dropped to his side. “I’m sorry, who are you?” He squinted through the dark. “You’re familiar. Are you one of the Pulpopoco crew?”
She hesitated, not sure what to tell him.
“Oh, I know!” he exclaimed. “One of the shopkeeps at the docks.”
He was just going to keep guessing. “I’m Rosaliy. We met at Crystal Palace,” she admitted.
“Oh, I remember,” he exclaimed.
Sure he did.
“I’d rather not announce my presence to too many people, so if you could not spread around that I’m here, I’d appreciate it,” she tried to half explain.
“You in town with Drake, then?” asked Cliff, not at all concerned.
“Sort of?” She really did not want to elaborate on the answer to that question. “I got here before he did.”
“Did you swim here?” joked Cliff, seeming to notice for the first time just how wet she was.
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“That’s a long story,” she said.
He was stumped. In his defense, she was not making conversation easy, and everything about this situation was odd.
“Where are you staying?” he asked next.
His questions were so much tougher than he thought they were.
“Well,” she admitted, “I don’t have anywhere to stay quite yet.”
“Excellent,” he said, grinning. “I was just on my way to my patron’s house, and there’s plenty of room. Why don’t you come along?”
His offer was tempting, and so kindly meant, especially seeing as how he had just been thrown off a pier by thugs, but Rosaliy needed to wait here.
Here, in the dark night, dripping wet, with nefarious characters roaming the streets.
She definitely needed to rethink this plan. Certainly she had time to go and sleep for the night. Then she would meet Drake and Daniella in the morning. Choice made, she hurried after Cliff to a well-kept bungalow on a bluff with a view of the beach in the distance.
He snatched up a note pinned to the door with a rather dangerous-looking jagged chunk of metal. The paper bore an image of a snarling animal with a long snout and a mouthful of menacing teeth.
“The Crocs?” she asked.
He nodded while he flipped over the paper, eyes scanning the bold-lettered note. “Find Drake by sunset. Yadda yadda. Lose toes. Same old.”
“They’re threatening to cut off your toes!” she exclaimed. “Is there somewhere you can go to be safe?”
“I’m not going to be forced out of my own town,” he insisted, nostrils flaring. “I won’t let them have that satisfaction.”
It sounded like he was going to let them have parts of his body, however. Rosaliy tried not to worry. Drake seemed to have plenty of experience with body part chopping thugs; he would know what to do.
Cliff fetched a pair of towels to dry off outside before they tracked half the ocean inside his patron’s house. As she was patting herself dry, her hands clapped against the piece of glass in her pocket. She had completely forgotten about Daniella’s message. How could she have forgotten about Daniella’s message?
She realized Cliff was speaking about halfway through his explanation of this bungalow. “My patron is the owner of the largest fleet of honest merchant vessels in all of Bayselle,” Cliff was bragging while simultaneously leading her into the house and lighting candles. “He’s the main backer of the Lansilia Coalition, and I repay him for his support by doing what I can for him. I’m keeping an eye on his house and holdings here while he’s off inspecting a new ship he just had built.”
“Where are we, exactly?” asked Rosaliy. When Cliff was confused, she clarified, “What town?”
“Are you kidding?” he asked, trying to smile like she was telling an obvious joke. When she just stared back, hoping for an answer, he stammered, “But you must have gotten here somehow—Did you really swim?”
She took too long trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for him.
“Seavale,” he told her finally.
“By the palace?” she asked.
He looked pained.
“I’m on a secret mission.” She decided he could handle that much. “And I transported here with magic.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, trying to accept this. “The palace is just west of town, on the coast. Are you headed to see the pirates?” He laughed a little, but it was a strained laugh.
“No,” she chuckled. “I’m just a little disoriented. I’ve never been to Bayselle.”
His face lit up. His desire to see the best in every situation was endearing. Rosaliy was beginning to understand why Drake liked this man. “What a terrible greeting to my hometown. How about I heat up some water for a bath to make it up to you?”
“I would appreciate that,” she said gratefully.
“My patron would be more than amiable to having you stay in his room up the stairs.” He pointed. “I’ll go get some water from the well and heat it up.”
“No need for you to go through all that trouble,” she objected. “I can help you bring in water.”
“Your protests fall on deaf ears,” he insisted, waving her off and walking out the door.
She should have followed him anyway, but she had a message waiting for her. The second he was gone, she dashed up the stairs to the patron’s room. She hardly took it in, but she would have to do so later. Every wall was covered in shells—completely coated. It was like an underwater fortress built for mermaids. A huge glass door led onto a balcony with a view of the sparkling ocean. The patron had a large chunk of sandy property to himself, with tall sea grasses as a natural barrier, so Rosaliy thought it safe to slip out to the balcony.
As soon as the smooth piece of frosted glass was in her fingers, it began speaking. Rosaliy nearly tossed it over the edge of the rough wooden balcony in her surprise.
“Greetings, Rosaliy,” said Daniella’s face on the frosted sheet of glass. “Since I can’t assume you are listening to this alone, I can’t be specific about what you must do. This will be a problem, considering what I’ve had to do to mask myself from the Flifary.”
Tiny Daniella sighed, her moving features etched in white on the cloudy glass. “I get ahead of myself. Changing the future is a complicated business. The path to future is less a straight line than a series of criss-crossing lines, all pulling at the future, shifting its course. Some events and some people are so influential, they change the course of history practically by existing. All people and events contribute to the direction of the future on a lesser scale, so no telling of the future is absolute, only very likely. For example, the choice of a pig farmer to sell a pig or breed piglets may not influence a king’s decision to go to war with a neighbor, but if that pig farmer chooses to give a piglet to the king’s daughter as a pet, and it runs off and is rescued by the son of the neighbor, sparking goodwill between bordering nations, one inconsequential pig farmer can nudge history. There’s no way I can explain what the Flifary do in one meandering monologue, but I’d like you to have a basic understanding of who can influence the future under their watch and how the Flifary themselves make small corrections to redirect history.”
Rosaliy’s head reeled. What did any of this mean to her?
“I am an influencer,” announced miniature Daniella, “so I’ve lived my life under the Flifary’s watch, mainly as an enemy. For some reason.”
Was that a joke?
“This gives me a certain expertise on the Flifary and an inability to combat this particular threat. They already know how to stop me, you see. Same with Arlana and Katyrinna and their closest allies. The only way to triumph over those who saw what we would already do is for all of us to do what we never would—nothing.”
Rosaliy had so many questions for this white outline of Daniella, but this was not a two-way speech.
“If Arlana was successful in wiping out the Flifary’s ability to see ahead—and I’ll assume she was if you are listening to this message—you have a window of time in which to act. And I do mean you. You are inconsequential enough to have been overlooked during initial planning. They would have assumed you would not be a factor in their demise if the more powerful forces were not at play to direct your course.”
Daniella took a deep breath, forcing a pause in her confusing speech.
“I know I talk in circles. Operating instinctively and with unplanned haste irks me. Arlana sent me a message. You’ll need to get to Flifary Island, and you’ll need to keep Katyrinna away from the island. Hopefully I’ve accomplished that much for you.” Frosty Daniella’s mouth tightened, perhaps considering how furious Queen Kat would be at being forced to sit out this fight.
“I can’t say much more, but I should be able to retranslate the message for you when you bring me the book. It will give you some options. And that is the most important point. You must ultimately choose what to do. You’re the only factor unaccounted for. Until the Flifary are able to reconstruct their ability to see what lies ahead, I will be untrackable, but also without any memory of what I have done or who I am. The two were mutually necessary and rather irreversible. Strong memories may filter back to me slowly, but if that happens, the Flifary may be better able to track me. Use that to your advantage.”
“What?” Rosaliy said aloud while frosted Daniella paused. “What are you telling me?”
“Oh, and I imagine you want to know where the children are,” continued the talking glass, insensitive to the insanity spewing from it. “I hope I’ve given you enough to understand you cannot know, not until the Flifary threat is neutralized. As long as you stay out of their direct notice, they will have little reason to search you out. I imagine the more time you take, the more noticeable you become.”
“Well, this would have been helpful information yesterday,” muttered Rosaliy.
“My only real advice is to behave unpredictably. Bayselle will get you closest to Flifary island, so I’ve given you the means to get there. Finding the island itself—well, I can tell you how I would do that, but I won’t. You’ll find a way. Farewell.”
And then she was gone. Rosaliy flipped the glass over, hoping for an addendum to this world-shattering message on the back of the glass. It remained smooth, cold, and unresponsive.
“Rosaliy?” came a muffled voice from inside the house. “One bath and one fire all ready. If you set out your clothes to dry, hopefully you’ll be in better shape tomorrow.”
Dry clothes and a bath were not going to put her in better shape tomorrow. What did all of this mean?