CHAPTER ELEVEN—HAHKAMORRA

Shiro screamed Ali’s name, but dipped into the water just as he sucked in a lung full of air and started gasping, choking.

Men all around screamed and chocked along with him as they kicked within the water, trying to stay on the surface. While a Scorpion Guard did well in the desert, rarely did they know how to swim.

Kicking his legs as hard as he could, Shiro made to reach for the boat, but something grabbed him from behind and started pulling him toward shore. He tried to keep above the surface until his legs finally touched the bottom where dirt and mud squished into his sandals, pulling them off.

Still coughing, Shiro lay on the bank as Scorpion Guards—the ones that could swim—made it to the shore. He had sucked in a lot of water, some of it going into the wrong places. He couldn’t stop coughing.

Shiro? Jessamine conveyed. Are you all right?

It’s Ali—he’s… he’s gone.

What do you mean “gone”?

He did not convey the words to describe what happened to Ali, but his outward pouring of emotion must have conveyed the nature of the experience, of losing his friend before his eyes, because Jessamine’s sorrow—surprisingly mild, or not so surprisingly, since she cared little for Ali—swept through to him, though not in words.

Shiro lay looking up into the blue sky, but he grunted and sat up as the jinni materialized before him. He regarded Jessamine’s large brown eyes, as she put her hands on either side of his face.

“Now is not the time.”

He wanted to cringe, to curl in on himself. “He’s—he’s gone. He’s Dead!”

Shiro could barely get the words out as his throat started getting thick and his eyes blurry. He had never suspected Ali would go so quickly, so ignominiously.

The Abassir—his friend—had been a top-tier adventurer.

One moment he had been there with Shiro, and the next he had been gobbled up by that river monster and was gone.

Shiro slammed his fists into the soft mud of the bank and forced himself up, Jessamine levitating off of him to get out of his way as he waded into the water where he saw Debaku and Raz pulling more men out to safety.

Shiro was a good swimmer, but in his moment of grief and accidentally taking in water the wrong way, he had almost drowned—and may have, if it hadn’t been for Debaku who tossed him ashore before quickly wading back in.

Swimming forward, Shiro put out his hand toward a struggling Scorpion Guard attempting to swim to shore. He grasped the man’s forearm and pulled him forward.

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Once he was ashore, Shiro waded back into the water where other men—the better swimmers among them—were assisting the drowning men.

The water thrashed in front of him.

It was a drowning Scorpion.

Shiro went forward and quested out with his hands. The moment the drowning man had something to grab onto for support, that being Shiro, he latched himself onto the samurai and attempted to climb out of the water using Shiro has a ladder.

He went under water, kicking and swimming, unable to get any air. Even with his agility and speed from Jessamine’s bonded magic, Shiro had trouble staying on the surface.

Managing to get some air, a sudden bob of water shot toward him. Was it a river lizard? It moved far too fast to be a man underneath.

Shiro gritted his teeth as the water broke, revealing two hands, one of which grabbed Shiro by the front of his tunic as well as the drowning Scorpion and they were both pushed toward the shore.

Once they had room to stand, Razul poked his head above the surface, picked the drowning Scorpion Guard up bodily and tossed him into the grass. “Learn how to swim, yes!”

Coughing and hacking from the water in his throat, the Scorpion was left to his own devices as Razul grinned like a bandit. “Quite the adventure, eh?”

“What?” Shiro asked weakly.

Why is he smiling like that?

“Do you not know… did you not—did you not see, you fool? Ali is dead!”

“What?” Razul asked. “No,” he said, waving a hand. “Uncomfortable, yes. Dead, surely not.”

“Did you not see that beast?” Debaku aked. “It swallowed Ali and ten other men whole.”

“Yes,” Razul said with a grin. “The key word being”—he raised a finger as if he were teaching them something—“’whole.”

Jessamine stood on the bank, her sandaled feet levitating above the muddy shore as she balled her fists. “You mean to say you waited until now to tell them not to panic? Do you know what you just put Shiro through?!”

Now she was angry? She hardly cared before…

Razul, his body slick and wet, pushed his hair back with his free hand in such a manner as befitted a prince with a dozen beautiful onlookers. He reacted as if seeing Shiro for the first time today. “Ah, I am sorry about that, my friend. But Ali is fine.”

“Are you certain?” Debaku asked.

The Scorpions were beginning to conglomerate on the shore, their swords out in their hands—which men still had swords after the boat had sunk.

“Indeed,” Razul said. “That beast that swallowed up Ali and our men—I recognize it. It’s called a Hahkamorra!” He said the last word as he raised his fist into the air, a triumphant claim of superior knowledge on his face.

“Ugh!” Jessamine complained, then she evaporated into a swirl of blue mist and was gone.

“Then we must go after that… that—“

“Hahkamorra,” Razul said, finishing the words for Shiro.

“Hai!”

“We should not wait,” Debaku said. “We must slay this beast.”

Nodding, Razul said. “Indeed, but who will look after these poor fools?” He glanced about the river bank where the men still coughed and dripped.

Shiro regarded them as well and spotted Ushtan further up the river. “Him,” Shiro said, pointing.

“Very well,” Razul said quickly as if his interest and concern evaporated like hot water on a sunbaked rock. “Come. We hunt a Hahkamorra. Let us slay this beast and deliver my brother and our men from their perdition so that they may return to us.”

Shiro took pause. “Why are you speaking like that?”

“For the scrolls, man,” Razul said indignantly. “Do you believe our journeys will not be remembered? Achi! Perhaps he will write something as lasting as the Epic Sword and Sorcery Entertainments of Ashahnai.”

At another time, Shiro might as about that title Razul mentioned, but right now, his focus was on Ali.

“Who is Achi?” Debaku asked.

“He is a Scorpion that comes from a family of scribes. A long line of penmen.” He shrugged. “The man broke the mold in his family and was cast out. He then became a soldier in the sultan’s—“

“History lesson’s later,” Shiro said, his concern mounting with every minute. “We must go.”

“Yes, of course,” Razul said. “Come. This way!”