The river's pace was leisurely, and Cutting Water responded eagerly. Immanuel was sitting on a bench at the stern, his hands guiding the rudder to keep the boat steady. The sun was high, casting a comforting warmth over them.
As Naia's gaze lingered on the fading silhouette of her village, Immanuel noticed tears in her eyes. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, feeling his own pain. His attention was quickly diverted by a peculiar movement under her robes. "Naia, what is moving under your robes?" he asked, more out of concern than curiosity.
She turned to him, her eyes wide with the vulnerability of being caught off-guard. Hastily, she averted her gaze and settled down, perhaps a bit embarrassed.
"Sorry," Immanuel called out softly from the back. He decided to share a bit of his own pain, hoping to bridge the gap. "Hey, um, I was also separated from my wife and child...and family." His voice wavered as the words brought his own loss sharply into focus. "It hurts like a knife through the heart."
She remained silent, busying herself with the sail. Meanwhile, Immanuel summoned a piece of fruit, a small comfort against the tide of emotions. As he finished it, Naia turned, curious about his snack. He summoned another fruit, offering it to her with a gesture.
Her astonishment was clear seeing the fruit being plucked out of thin air. And even more after she tasted it. "What is this fruit? This is divine!" she exclaimed after nibbling cautiously, her pleasure evident.
"You can have it," Immanuel said, watching her relish the flavors.
She savored the fruit, taking only a few bites, then expertly stowed it away for later. "I feel so full of life," she remarked with a smile.
She was struggling with the sail for some time but eventually she pulled a rope to unfurl the sai,l and the wind immediately caught it, their pace quickened. Naia, nearly caught off balance by the sudden gust, danced across the deck with surprising grace. She secured the sail, then, with her bag in tow, she joined Immanuel on the bench.
Immanuel broached the subject he was curious about bluntly, "So... you have a tail?" He watched Naia rummage through her belongings, extracting what appeared to be fishing gear. At his inquiry, she only nodded slightly, a soft "Yes" escaping her lips.
Curious, he pressed on, "Why hide it? Wouldn't it be more practical... easier to have it out?" She seemed to shrink into her bag, her voice muffled as she replied, "It is only for... together time."
"Together time?" Immanuel echoed, slightly confused. No further explanation came.
Thinking about the unusual customs, he ventured another question, "Can humans and... your species... have children?" Her body language shifted to discomfort, and he quickly added, "Sorry, just curious. Where I come from, these are typical questions, I think."
She didn't respond, instead focusing on assembling the fishing rod, baiting the hook with something pungent, and casting her line into the river, turning her back to Immanuel.
The day passed in relative peace, the boat making good progress down the river. Naia caught nothing, but as night fell, she unrolled a hide for sleep, positioning herself on the opposite side of the sail.
Immanuel savored the nighttime serenity, occasionally tapping into his core energy to stave off sleep and revel in the amplified senses it granted him. Eventually, the toll of the day's events caught up with him, and fatigue crept into his bones.
He decided it was time to rest. Lowering the sail—a task that proved straightforward—he threw out the anchor. It took a few attempts, but finally, it caught on something, pulling the boat closer to the shore, yet leaving them comfortably adrift.
Realising the tent was impractical for the confined space, he opted for the hide instead. After storing the tent back, he stretched out in the middle of the boat, letting the gentle rocking lull him into slumber.
---
Immanuel was awakened by the tender kiss of the sun's first rays. The horizon unfurled before him like a canvas painted in the rich hues of dawn, with the three suns punctuating the vast expanse of grassland, slowly lifting themselves skyward. The sight was nothing short of majestic.
He was lost in this awe for a moment, a humble spectator in nature's grand theater. Eventually, shaking himself from his reverie, he tugged at the anchor. The boat protested with a slight lurch, then yielded, allowing the current to take hold again. With ease, Immanuel hoisted the sail, settling back to steer the vessel toward the river's center.
As the boat meandered, Immanuel's thoughts drifted inward. He began to meditate, focusing on his core. He could sense its fullness, pulsating with energy. Experimentally, he channeled a portion, invigorated as the power coursed through him.
Immanuel settled into a comfortable position at the stern, his attention turning inward as he experimented with the energy of his core. Time seemed to meld into the backdrop until something in the periphery of his vision caught his attention. A herd of colossal bipedal creatures sprinting across the grasslands with impressive speed. Their long strides seemed to make the ground tremble. "Wow! Naia, look!" he exclaimed.
Stirred from her slumber, Naia came up and followed his pointing finger. Her eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah, those are Terrians," she remarked, nodding at the fast-moving creatures.
Above, enormous white birds with expansive wingspans glided gracefully, their silhouettes stark against the brightening sky.
Naia's brow furrowed with concern. "They're fleeing from something," she noted.
The distant figures of the herd and the birds vanished beyond the horizon, leaving a quiet serenity in their wake. Naia moved to sit beside Immanuel, closer to the sail's center where the wind remained steady, propelling them smoothly along their course. She nibbled contentedly on the piece of fruit Immanuel had given her, taking small bites.
Immanuel gestured to the rudder, encouraging Naia to take over steering. "It's your turn," he said, offering a brief nod towards the helm. He stood close, ready to guide her if needed. Naia approached cautiously, her hands hovering over the rudder before firmly grasping it. With careful observation, she mimicked the way Immanuel had handled it, her focus intense as she adjusted to the boat's response.
Immanuel summoned another piece of fruit, biting into it with zest. Naia's eyes widened in amazement. "How do you do that? Can you actually create food?" she asked.
"Not create," Immanuel corrected between bites, "I just... retrieve them from some sort of invisible storage." He could see the concept puzzled her. It puzzled him to no end.
He then shifted his focus to a beast-core he had summoned, careful not to absorb it, merely probing it with his senses. It emanated a raw strength that rivaled his own, coupled with a shadowy essence that he couldn't quite grasp. After a moment of contemplation, he put it away and started meditating, now with his eyes closed.
After some time, Naia's voice broke his concentration. "Hey, Immanuel, look over there." She pointed out across the water to where another village could be seen in the distance.
"Another tribe?" Immanuel inquired, peering curiously at the settlement.
Naia nodded. “Better we sail through...”
Immanuel listened as she trailed off, sensing her caution. "Some tribes are dangerous," she continued after a pause. "They sustain themselves solely through hunting and are very strong." Her voice carried a note of respect mixed with a palpable wariness.
The river widened, and the bordering grass reached higher as they journeyed on. Rounding a bend, they came upon a solitary figure, a tall monkey-man perched on a small platform, fishing intently. The sudden appearance stunned both parties into a momentary stillness.
Naia's reflexes snapped first; she lunged forward, upsetting the boat's gentle sway. Scrambling for her bow, urgency etched into her movements. Meanwhile, Immanuel remained still, his brow furrowed in confusion as he observed the unfolding scene.
The monkey-man ceased his fishing, whipped around, and dashed into the towering grass, vanishing from sight. Naia, arrow notched and bowstring tense, shouted in frustration. "No!" she cried out.
"What are you doing?" Immanuel's voice was a mix of concern and bewilderment.
"He's gone to get others," Naia hissed, her eyes alight with anger. "They won't let us pass. They won't let me pass."
"Why? Why would they stop us?" Immanuel queried, a note of incredulity in his voice.
"Why? Why would they? Because it's the duty of the tribes to protect—or to claim—one for their own, and I belong to no tribe. This golden hair," she gestured to her locks, "makes me a prize to them. An even bigger prize. And even without it." She stared at the place were the fisher disappeared in the tall grass.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Immanuel's thoughts were scattered as the urgency of the situation dawned on him. "What do we do?" he finally asked, his voice laced with anxiety.
"Keep to the far right," Naia instructed, her voice sharp as she prepared her bow. "I'll try to shoot them if I have to."
"Can't we just talk to them?" Immanuel suggested, hoping for a peaceful resolution.
Naia's expression soured. "You want to gift me to them?" she accused, her anger flaring.
"What? No, of course not! But surely there's another way," Immanuel protested.
"They're stronger," Naia stated flatly. "They'll take me by force, and by custom they should do so. For them to give up such a prize without a fight would be stupid."
The conversation halted as they both focused on navigating the winding river. The boat hugged the right bank, manoeuvring through the bends that seemed to multiply with every turn. Immanuel cursed under his breath, "Why so many fucking turns?"
Naia was on edge, her eyes scanning the shore, knowing the serenity of the river belied the danger lurking within the tall grass.
Immanuel's grip tightened on his staff as they progressed at a crawl. They rounded another bend, and he thought he caught a glimpse of movement. Naia had an arrow nocked, but she held her fire. The water's gentle lapping against the hull was the only sound in a tense silence.
As they continued, with each turn of the river, their surroundings offered both a reprieve and a new sense of dread. Finally, they could see further ahead, but the river took a sharp left, forcing Immanuel to work harder to keep the boat close to the bank.
They rounded the curve, and their fears were realised. A series of platforms extended into the water to the other side, and on them stood at least ten monkey-men, all with bows drawn and ready. His heart pounded against his ribcage, a rapid drum signaling fear.
"This is bad," Immanuel muttered under his breath, a statement of the obvious as they drifted closer to the blockade. The threat was unmistakable; they were about to enter a standoff, and the odds were not in their favor.
Naia’s first arrow fell short, failing to reach the monkey-men on the platforms. She swiftly prepared another shot as one of the men shouted to them, “The river is bountiful today! Dock your boat and…” But before he could finish, Naia fired again, aiming directly at the taunting voice. The man ducked, his grin unfazed as the arrow sailed harmlessly over him.
“Naia, take the rudder. Stay low,” Immanuel instructed as he moved to the front of the boat, he pulled out his sword. He was unsure of his next move; the platforms extended across the width of the river, blocking their path.
Three arrows flew towards him, striking his armor. To his amazement, they caused no injury, glancing off without leaving a mark. With no time left to consider, and no clear strategy, he acted on instinct. He started to burn his core energy on max. Sweet, sweet power filled him.
He leaped from the boat with a burst of energy, aiming for the closest platform. His jump was powerful but unbalanced, and as he landed, his weight caused the platform to dip violently. The monkey-men were quick and nimble, dancing across the swaying structures.
Immanuel swung his sword, its blade cutting easily through the ropes that held the platforms together. As the boat rammed into him, he was thrown into the river, diving headfirst into the murky water.
Heaving himself through the water with desperate kicks, Immanuel made for the shore, his muscles straining with effort while burning with energy. When he finally felt the solid mud beneath his feet, he pushed upward, driving himself out of the water's grasp. But his relief was short-lived; two of the monkey-men awaited him on the bank, their long, dark blades gleaming with intent.
Adrenaline and energy surged through Immanuel's veins as he charged at them, his staff in his left hand. It sparked with golden energy. When he struck the first assailant, the man was obliterated, the force of the blow sending him crashing into his comrade. Immanuel did not pause; he surged forward, bursting onto the shore, his feet carrying him towards the distant sight of the boat.
The tall grass was a green blur as he sped past it, his heart pounding in his chest. When another monkey-man appeared, attempting to block his path, Immanuel barreled into him with the force of a wild beast, knocking the obstacle aside without breaking his stride.
Realising he was moving away from the river, he took a blind leap into the grass. The earth swallowed him up to his hips in mud, but he clawed his way forward, propelled by the raw energy he expended. Behind him, the sounds of pursuit grew louder on the firmer ground.
His struggle continued until the mud gave way to water once more, and he burst through the grass line, back into the river's embrace, just ahead of the boat. "Thank God," he gasped, the words barely a whisper as he attempted to swim with his cumbersome sword and staff.
Then, pain—a bite, something vicious and determined. He screamed, "Naia!" before being dragged beneath the surface. In a frenzied battle against the unseen attacker, he kicked and slashed, reemerging to find Naia steering towards him.
Another bite, another yank at his leg, and he fought back with his staff, trying to fend off the creature. Naia reappeared, throwing a rope towards him. Clutching it with the same hand that held his staff, he felt the tug as she tried to haul him aboard.
Once on the boat, he collapsed, utterly drained, his core depleted. Naia took her place behind the rudder once more, and Immanuel, gathering his wits, glanced back to see three monkey-men on the shore, taking aim with their bows.
An arrow sliced through the air, piercing his cheek. Agony flared, and he fell back, vision blurring, as the sound of the river melded with the chaos of his thoughts.
Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, Immanuel could feel the jagged end of the arrow shaft with his fingers. It was lodged firmly, the cruel barb of its head buried somewhere in soft tissue. He could taste the iron tang of blood, feel it trickle down his throat, prompting a cough and a splatter of red against the rough wooden floor of the boat.
His core felt nearly depleted, a well run dry after the exertion of his escape. Clenching his fist around the remnant of the shaft, he called upon that last reserve, a flickering flame of core energy that surged through his battered body.
The world narrowed down to the point of contact between his hand and the wood, and with a force that seemed to come from beyond himself, Immanuel snapped the arrow shaft. It gave way with a sharp crack, a sound that echoed over the waters, strangely loud in the sudden quiet that followed their ordeal.
With the shaft broken, he reached into his mouth, grasped the arrowhead and pulled it out. It emerged with a resistance that made his stomach churn, but then it was free, and he tossed it aside.
---
As Immanuel lay sprawled on the boat's floor, the throb of his cheek pulsed with every beat of his heart. His vision blurred, colors and shapes melting into a canvas of his pain. Then, Naia's silhouette loomed over him.
"Here," Naia's voice cut sharply through the fog of his agony. She thrust a piece of cloth into his trembling hand. "Hold this against your wound."
Immanuel's fingers, slick with his own blood, fumbled clumsily before grasping the fabric. With a shaky breath, Immanuel pressed the cloth to his cheek, feeling the coarse texture. Naia was already moving away, her hands returning to the rudder, her eyes scanning the riverbank for any sign of their pursuers.
Disoriented, Immanuel's mind was still fogged from the shock and exhaustion that had taken him to the brink. The nausea churned in his stomach as he heard the distant calls of wildlife. He did not know how long he laid there like that until Naia's voice cut through the haze again. "Show me your cheek," she said.
Lifting his head, Immanuel's hand moved almost of its own accord to protect his face as he sat up, an instinct to shield his vulnerability from any further assault. Naia leaned in close, her eyes scanning the wound.
"It is healed," she announced, her voice a mix of disbelief and relief.
Immanuel's hand mirrored hers, fingers probing the place where the arrow had pierced his flesh. To his amazement, the skin was smooth, the raw wound that had been there was now just a memory. He was astounded.
"What?" he uttered, half to her, half to himself, as he confirmed the miraculous repair.
Naia nodded, her eyes meeting his. "You heal quickly," she observed, "very quickly."
Naia sat down again and offered a simple plan, "You sleep," she said. "I'll take the rudder and keep going until I need to rest, and then it's your turn. And... praise to you." Her statement was punctuated by a laugh, bright and unexpected. Her face lit up with a beautiful smile that reached her eyes. Immanuel, still feeling a bit queasy, was curious. "What?" he inquired.
She looked at him, her smile unwavering. "Those two hunters didn't stand a chance; they practically exploded." The admiration in her voice was evident, but her gaze held a deeper meaning. To Naia, Immanuel realised at that moment, strength wasn't just about physical prowess; it was about safety, the possibility of choice.
Turning his gaze aside, Immanuel contemplated the idea that his show of force could inspire such feelings was overwhelming, especially when he felt anything but powerful inside, especially now with his core almost empty. He was like a mouse waking up in a lion’s body. Shaking off the thought, he began to strip off his leather armor. It had become a part of him, a second skin, a true treasure, he realised.
He removed his vambraces and scooped up water from the river with a basket, carefully cleaning each piece of his armor. Then, feeling the need for personal cleanliness, he spoke, "Naia, could you close your eyes for a moment? Just keep the boat steady, I'll be quick. Wait. Better to scan the shoreline, just don’t look.”
Without hesitation, she turned away, her eyes firmly focused on the grass. With swift movements, he washed his undergarments and himself, relishing the cool caress of the water against his weary skin. He submerged his head, working to rid his hair of the grime accumulated over days. Rinsing and repeating with fresh water, he soon felt a semblance of his old self returning.
He dried off quickly in the waning sunlight, re-donned his armor, and settled back into his comfortable hide and allowed sleep to claim him, even as Naia steadfastly steered them into the embrace of the night.
Halfway through the night, Naia's gentle nudging brought him from his deep sleep. He rose, stiff, and took his place at the rudder while she curled up in the warmth of his hide to rest. The nocturnal world around him was serene, the sky a tapestry of stars shimmering with no moons to contest their brilliance. The air was fresh with an earthy scent that soothed his senses and eased the last remnants of his nausea.
As he steered the boat, he reflected on the day's tumultuous events. Despite the fear and the absence of a clear strategy, his impulsive surge of power had been enlightening. He acknowledged the need for prudence—a reminder that the intoxicating rush of his newfound strength required wisdom in its use. He mused on the fate of those in this world who, in their youthful exuberance, might dazzle like meteorites only to be extinguished by greater forces. It was a terrifying realisation.
He cast a thoughtful glance at his walking stick, recognizing its worth beyond mere support. The idea that he had once considered parting with it seemed ludicrous now. Everything he'd been given by that enigmatic entity was invaluable, he understood that now.
As the boat rounded a bend in the river, the wind fell to a whisper, and they glided smoothly past. Feeling his core energy replenished to some extent, he allowed himself a small flare of power, a smile tugging at his lips from the thrill of it. This is like an orgasm. "Careful," he muttered to himself, recognizing the need to manage this potent, seductive force wisely.
The boat continued on its journey, borne forward by the current and his steady hand.