Farox bloodsnow's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

Farox spread the map scrap on a flat rock. The owl perched beside it, watching. He traced the inked line with one finger. It curved past a mark he did not know, a drawing of a tall stone spire ringed with boards. No elder in his village had named such a place. He had no route. He had only a dead man's guess and a scrap of cloth. The owl pushed her beak into the scrap. She clicked, sharp and loud. Her pale talons scraped the rock. Then she dropped off, flew low over the frost, and circled back. She landed, screamed, and flew the same way again. Farox frowned. He lifted the scrap to his own nose. Under the rot and ink he caught it. Salt. Faint, but there. The sea had touched this cloth. "You smell the water," he said. The owl screamed once more and set off downhill. Farox shouldered his pack and followed. He walked for two days. The owl held her line, always pulling toward lower ground. The pines thinned. The wind changed. It grew wet and heavy and carried that same salt smell, stronger now. On the third morning the trees broke open, and Farox stopped. Below him lay the coast. Rolling surf struck a long curve of pale sand. Dark rocks jutted from the water. Green waves folded white against the shore. He had reached the sea. His road had an end at last. Then he saw the fight. Two shapes thrashed in the shallows. They were not men. Scaled hides, fins ridging their spines, clawed hands locked together. Fish-people, snarling, teeth bared, rolling in the foam. One drove the other under. Water churned red. A shout came from the sand. A boy ran toward the water, thin, barefoot, black hair wild in the wind. He gripped a fishing spear in both hands. He could not have been more than fifteen. He leveled the spear at the nearest scaled brawler and froze, too close and too small. Farox did not think. He drew his sword and ran down the slope. "Boy! Away from them!" The boy turned, eyes wide. "They took my catch! They'll take the whole beach!" He jabbed the spear anyway. One fish-creature wheeled toward him, jaws open. Farox reached him first. He shoved the boy behind his shield and met the lunge. Claws screeched off the iron bands. He braced his boots in the wet sand and held. The creatures saw the blade. They hissed, broke apart, and slipped back into the surf. The water swallowed them. Then the beach went quiet, only the waves and the boy's hard breathing. Farox lowered his sword. The boy stared at him, spear still raised. "I'm Kai," the boy said. "Kai TundraTide. Who are you, and where did you come from?" "From the mountains," Farox said. "I came to find the coast." He looked at the water where the creatures had vanished. He had reached the sea. But the sea was not empty. Under crashing waves Farox saw a glint and went toward it to find a new trident and spear he could use.