17

Ferry

WYNN DROWSILY WATCHED DAPPLED LIGHT dance upon the river’s surface as the ferry drifted under the shade of the large trees. She rested her head as the boat bobbed, swayed, and buckled down the river.

Nestled near sacks of oats, barley, and barrels of fish sat the other two. Beryl boredly watched the riverside while Lance read a book. Fletch said nothing but focused on the waters ahead. He quietly held a long oar, paddling it through the current.

Wynn’s eyes closed as the boat swayed rhythmically. Then she quickly jerked awake again.

Focus Wynn! The last thing she needed was to fall asleep, especially now when she needed to keep her eyes peeled for danger.

She glanced back at the other two. Lance yawned and turned a page, while Beryl leaned over the side to bat at the water.

Fletch glanced back. “Hey, no leaning!” he barked.

Beryl got up and started poking around the crates and barrels.

“And no messing with the inventory,” Fletch snapped, “or walking about. Stay in your seat.”

Beryl sighed and plopped down in his seat. “So bored,” he groaned.

“No lamenting,” Fletch said, “and before you try, no eating until dusk.”

Beryl frowned. “You know, I’m starting to miss Fen.”

Wynn rested her chin on the boat again and watched the deep foaming current.

I wonder where all the fish are.

She squinted her eyes to try to see below the surface.

It just seemed so …quiet.

She closed her eyes for what seemed like a second.

Bump.

Thud.

Wynn woke with a start. “W-What was that?!”

“Calm down, it’s just rocks,” Fletch said.

“You know you talk in your sleep,” Beryl told her.

Wynn rubbed her eyes. So I did fall asleep. She gazed out at the rocky glen of trees that surrounded them. The ferry continued its journey drifting through the dark wood.

Something wasn’t right. But what?

Wynn turned to see Beryl slump gloomily over the wooden deck. “So weak. Going to fade away from existence.”

The sight made her forget her feeling of unease.

The image of a stale piked-almond biscuit popped into Wynn’s mind. But it’s my last…Still, the sight of a despairing lark made her start digging in her pack.

“Psst,” she whispered.

Beryl glanced up. His eyes brightened upon seeing the treat. He glanced over at Fletch, who was still focused elsewhere. As Beryl crept over, Wynn warned him.

“It’s a tad stale,” she said, handing it over.

“Honestly I’d eat my left foot at this point,” Beryl said. He wolfed down the biscuit and his wings buzzed.

“Amazing,” he said. “That was pretty good. What was it?”

“Piked-almond biscuit. I helped make it.” Wynn was relieved he hadn’t picked it apart like Trussel had. “I wish I still had a butternut—now that one you’d like!”

Beryl beamed. “Do you have any more?”

“Just a bit of tuff-tuff seed bread.” Without hesitating she unwrapped it and split it in half. She ate her half while Beryl wolfed down his. Despite its hardened texture, Beryl still grinned.

“We don’t have anything like that back home,” he said. “We have biscuits and bread, but just not like that. That biscuit would go really well crumbled over some pudding.”

Wynn cocked her head. “What’s pudding?”

Beryl looked at her like she’d insulted him. “What? You’ve never had pudding before?!” His wings buzzed. “Like ever?”

Even Lance glanced up a bit, before continuing reading.

“I take it that it’s really good,” said Wynn.

“The best,” Beryl said. “Oh but nothing beats pudding—except maybe cake—and maybe pie. But otherwise, pudding is the best.”

“Arguably,” Lance muttered, but Beryl didn’t seem to hear.

“Okay,” Wynn nodded, “I’ll try it.” Somehow, she doubted anyone in her village would be familiar with it. I mean it sounds made-up—pudding. “Even though I’ve never heard of that.”

Beryl sighed wistfully. “I haven’t had it in so long… not since I left home.”

Wynn felt a pang of sympathy. She would give anything right now for something made by her ma or pa.

THE AFTERNOON DRAGGED ON.

“I bet I could fly to shore and back,” Beryl declared, pointing at a large rocky outcrop on the riverbank.

Wynn laughed. “No way. By the time you made it back, we’d be far down the river—we’ll be on our way back from the Awlt.”

Thump.

Wynn’s ear pricked at the noise. The ferry jostled a little, causing the wooden planks bound together to utter a soft creak against the current.

“It’s a little shallow here,” Fletch called out, “so expect some friction.”

Lance stirred awake from dozing. He looked around for his book, which had fallen.

“Okay, now here’s a question,” Wynn said. “What’s worse, getting stung by a speckled-sting wasp or being bit by a badger-pine?”

“Getting stung then,” Beryl said. “Not to say I couldn’t take both, but did you see the teeth on those badger-pines—huge! How about you?”

“Same answer,” Wynn said. Those were terrifying.” She could still remember their snarls as they lunged at her.

Bump.

Thump.

Swish!

The ferry jolted them forward, Wynn fighting to keep balance while Beryl stumbled back into a sack of oats, causing his horns to plunge into the bag. As he stood up, there was a small audible rip. Oats spilled out.

Wynn turned to the Ferrier, who scanned the water while muttering.

“Holy mackerel!” yelped Beryl.

Wynn turned to see a blue sail-like fin vanish under the water’s surface.

Lance looked up, noticing the alarm.

“Um, Fletch,” Wynn said to the Ferrier.

A scent hit Wynn’s nose: wilted petunias left on a windowsill for petal-dough.

Magic? She felt a rush of panic. Could some wilders cast spells too?

With a thunderous crash the copper-scaled wilder rose from the depths. It surfaced near Lance, who leapt back in surprise. The wilder hooked one of its webbed claws onto the side of the ferry, tipping it. It hissed loudly, its narrow gaping maw displaying a row of razor-thin teeth.

Wynn clung to the other side of the ferry, her eyes wide, while Beryl hovered beside her. Fletch shook his long oar at the beast. “Begone, you good-for-nothing net eater!”

Lance picked up his staff and cast a bolt of magic at the beast. It barreled back and retreated under the water, and the boat wobbled back and forth.

“What was that!?” Beryl cried.

Fletch dug around the crates, unbothered. “Ah, it’s just a sail-back garp, not worth the fuss.” He pulled out the spiked mace, grunting as he lifted it over his shoulder. “Not to worry, I’ll handle it.”

The garp resurfaced, its sail-back and snout visible. It narrowed its diamond-like pupils at them.

As Lance launched another spell before it vanished beneath the surface.

There was silence.

Then the water began to swirl.

The ferry buckled, nearly throwing them off as the waters grew rougher and rougher. White foamy water began to fill the ferry.

“What is happening!?” But even as she said it, Wynn had a hunch; she’d sensed it.

“It’s no ordinary sail-back,” Fletch said, gripping the side of the ferry.

“It has powers!” Lance chimed in.

Wynn felt a spring of dread bubble within her. “So wilders can have powers!”

Fletch yowled as his mace slipped from his grip and plunged into the water.

“Sour seaweed!” he cried. “My favorite mace!”

With another crash, this time from behind, the sail-back emerged and slammed into the side of the ferry, almost knocking everyone into the water.

Plunk.

Wynn turned to see Lance’s staff vanish beneath the surface. “Thorns and ash!” he yelled.

Thump.

The sail-back garp lunged at them again, pushing the ferry across, the current dragging them to and fro. Wynn grew nauseous.

“I think it’s trying to disorient us,” Lance said, clutching the side of the ferry and looking greener than usual. “Then it’ll go in for the kill.”

Wynn bristled.

“I need my staff,” he grunted, standing up to scan the water. “If I can cast something maybe we can escape.”

But even though they had only been flung a few feet, it was confusing trying to pinpoint where it had been ripped away.

Wynn focused on the rippling waters. She felt a slight headache as the ferry circled back, and could sense the faint traces of Lance’s last spell on the staff. Aha!

“It’s coming back!” Beryl warned, pointing at a resurfaced sail cruising towards them.

“I think I know where the staff is,” Wynn said. She felt a prickle of fear at the idea but continued, “I can grab it, but I need a distraction.”

They looked at her like she was crazy—except Lance, who met her gaze seriously.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

The sail-back hissed as it neared.

Wynn hesitated, then nodded.

“Okay.” Lance grabbed the fallen oar and made for the left of the ferry. “Beryl, Fletch, grab something, will you?”

Beryl nodded, flying over to a crate. With a grunt he lifted it, much to Fletch’s horror.

“Maybe not that inventory,” Fletch said weakly.

Wynn felt her headache growing once more. They were close. She took off her blue cloak and stuffed it into her pack, which she clipped closed.

Wynn took a breath and tensed, leaning over the side of the ferry. Be like Aldenmire Redwhisker…be like Aldenmire Redwhisker.

And with that, she leapt into the river.

She let out a yip.

Cold, it’s freezing cold! Wynn thought as she kicked her paws through the current.

Behind her she could hear the creaking of the ferry being jostled.

Her headache subsided as she swam further and further into the river waters.

Focus, focus…the others are depending on you…

She calmed herself and shut her eyes as the waves whipped around her. Then she felt it: the tug in her brain that told her where it was.

There!

She opened her eyes and dove beneath the surface.

As she swam, she spotted the staff nestled between rocks at the bottom. She reached down and pulled at it. It jostled but stayed put. With her lungs beginning to burn for air, Wynn swam to the surface.

After taking a big breath, she called out, “Beryl!”

Beryl dodged a swat from the wilder’s fin-like tail. “Watch it!” he snapped.

“Beryl!” Wynn called louder.

Beryl looked over.

She waved.

He flew swiftly over to her, while behind him, Lance dodged the lunging wilder.

“Did you find it?” Beryl asked eagerly.

Wynn nodded. “But I need help lifting a rock. Think you can help me?”

He nodded. “Got it.”

Wynn dove beneath, Beryl following. She pointed to the staff and pulled at it. Beryl tried lifting with his hands, bubbles flying up as he grunted. It shifted slightly, but not enough. Beryl then put his horn under the rock, a cloud of mud and gravel dispersing as he lifted it. With a yank, the staff was freed.

Wynn gave Beryl thumbs up and they swam back to the surface, staff in hand.

Beryl hovered over the water and gave himself a shake, flinging droplets everywhere. “That water was cold!”

Wynn shielded her face. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Stay back!” Fletch yelled.

They turned to see the wilder climbing aboard the ferry.

Wynn lifted the staff to Beryl. “To Lance!”

Beryl grabbed it then flew over to Lance, Wynn following in the bobbing tide.

Let’s hope that thing doesn’t notice me. She lowered herself a little in the waves.

“Lance!” Beryl called, tossing him the staff. Lance leapt to the right and caught it before it flew over the side of the ferry.

Lance glowered at Beryl, who looked a bit sheepish. “Next time call before you throw.”

Beryl laughed nervously. “Noted.”

Lance then turned to the womgoose, who was crouched behind one of the last crates.

Lance raised his staff, which glowed a familiar amber. With a swift downward motion, he sent an arrow of light hurtling towards the wilder. The sail-back garp reeled back in surprise and tumbled back into the water.

As the ferry rocked, Lance ran after the wilder and raised his staff over the side of the ferry. His eyes glowed amber as he sent small splinters of light crashing down upon the wilder.

With a hiss, the wilder slammed its tail along the ferry before it dove beneath the surface. The splinters of light followed. Lance and Fletch dashed to the side as the ferry careened left into a pillar of tall rocks, and splintered.

Wynn winced.

Water quickly poured into the sinking vessel.

“Abandon ship!” Fletch yowled, leaping into the now calm waters.

WYNN GAVE HER FUR A shake as she climbed onto the riverbank. She scanned for Fletch and Lance, who she spotted nearby, also soaking wet.

“Sorry about the ferry Fletch,” she said.

Fletch shrugged. “It happens.”

Beryl flew over, carrying two packs. He dropped Wynn’s down near her.

“Thank you,” Wynn said with surprise.

“No problem,” he said, landing. “Warning though, it may smell like trout.”

The long oar floated near shore. Fletch waddled over it, picked it up, and then wacked it against a rock, splitting it in two. He held it like a spear and glanced back at the trio. “I think this goes without saying that the trip is over.”

“Yeah,” Lance said, “we figured.”

Wynn put on her dripping wet pack and walked up to them. She cocked her head as the womgoose began to walk away. “You’re going back alone?”

Fletch glanced back. “’Course. Like I said, it happens.”

With that, he waddled deep within the brush.

They watched the vegetation for a moment, but the womgoose failed to reappear.

“Wow,” Wynn said, “not even a goodbye.” She turned back the two. “Sort of odd huh?”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “He just made off with our pence.”

Well, that explains the hurry, Wynn thought.

Beryl whistled as he watched the woods before him. The two turned and followed his gaze.

Before them were the twisted trees of the Agrestal. Strange dark vines crept along tall trunks of wood and curled along the ground.

Wynn felt a small prickle of dread.

They had reached Dark Agrestal.