Through Hell & Highwater

We're all the heroes of our own story

Hellen Eslinger was anxious. An emotion she’d got used to feeling over the past several weeks of searching for her clan leader. Araxie Belson was the greatest woman she’d ever known, a warrior who’d lifted Hellen up and given her purpose and a reason to look beyond herself to the needs of the clan.

Reaching for a seashell braided into her hair, Hellen squeezed it, grounding herself and letting the anxiety burn out. Anger took its place. Stepping out from her tent and into the campsite, Hellen watched her sisters preparing for battle.

Some cast quick spells to test each other’s reflexes, others conjured water-made swords and staffs, thrusting and slashing at the air to keep themselves focused. Their devotion to Araxie made Hellen proud and as she strode through the camp, she felt their eyes fall on her and nods of acknowledgement followed in her wake.

She stopped and kneeled at the riverbank, cupped her hands and splashed water into her face and through her hair, cleansing herself of all thoughts beyond getting Araxie back safely.

Taking a dagger from a sheathe on her waist, Hellen hacked off a piece of hair entangled with a shell. Holding it out to the river, she hummed, “Sorani, goddess of water and air. Protector of the sea. Storm Bringer, Mother Of The Tempest. Accept this offering and bring good winds to our sails and strength in the battles to come.”

Her prayer complete, she dropped the shell into the water and watched it be swept away on the current. Hearing footsteps behind her, Hellen saw two scouts approaching. Golda and Flavia. Twins with a talent for stealth and ranging. 

“What news do you bring?” Hellen asked, standing.

Golda, the more impetuous of the two, spoke first. “It’s as you thought. The Prosperity has docked at Gallows Bay. Blanchet and all of his duckies are sitting in a fine little row for us to pluck.”

Cautious Flavia added, “the slug and his men aren’t the only ones aboard. A pair of Questers are on the ship.”

The ‘Q’ word made Hellen’s blood run cold. “Good work. Did you see any sign of Araxie?”

“We believe she’s being held below deck somewhere,” Golda said. “I suppose we’ll have to cut our way through every idiot who gets in our way to free her.” A savage smile appeared.

 “Or we find a way to get to Blanchet quickly and force him to free her. In and out. Not everything needs to end in bloodshed.” Flavia suggested.

 “Thank you for your counsel. I’ll decide the approach we take,” Hellen replied. “We make for Gallows Bay and attack at first light.”

On the boat journey upriver, Hellen kept to herself, mind lost in an ocean of nostalgia and melancholy. She thought about the last time she and Araxie had been together, lying in their bedrolls beneath a sky of endless stars on an inlet facing out towards The Shining Sea.

She remembered their last words to each other, the determination of Araxie to pass on the mantle of clan leader. Hellen hadn’t wanted to hear it. She refused to take a position that hadn’t been earned and the conversation had turned into a petty argument.

If she’d known what would’ve happened, Hellen wouldn’t have let Araxie go raiding alone. The guilt ate away at her slowly, like barnacles clinging to a ship. She was done wallowing. It was time to make it right.

***

A fine sheet of morning mist covered Gallows Bay and an overcast sky blotted out the sun. From her position on the cliff, Hellen scoured the bay, seeing the familiar shape of rigging and sails rising out of the fog. The Prosperity floated in the surf, a squat, heavy merchant vessel that matched the appearance of her captain. She couldn’t see any signs of Blanchet. Only a few bleary-eyed sailors and gunmen meandered about the deck, attending to their duties.

There were no traces of the Questers either. Fucking carrion crows and scavengers the lot of them. If they were on board, Hellen figured Blanchet planned to ransom Araxie away. Hellen wouldn’t give him the chance. Turning to face her sisters, Hellen gave the signal to move and plunged into the sea.

Feeling salt spray kiss her face, Hellen tuned into the rhythm of the tide, the undulating current that pulled at her to go forward. Sorani was with her. She bolted towards the ship in a funnel of bubbles, aquamagic pumping in her veins. On the periphery of her vision, she saw the clan funnelling beside her, each of them breaking off into small groups to surround The Prosperity.

Hellen stopped at the port side and cast a spell to make her hands and feet as strong as limpets. She pressed herself to the ship and climbed until she was halfway up and waited for her sisters to reach the same position.

 I do this for you Araxie. Sorani protect us all.

Hellen signalled again and leapt onto the deck, grabbing hold of a startled gunman and snapping his neck. Then she formed a water-shaped javelin and launched it at another gunman, piercing him through the chest and sending him reeling over the side.

Within minutes the deck was cleared, and Hellen took a moment to get her bearings, to think about why there had been so few men on deck. At first, it had seemed a lack of poor preparation from Blanchet. It was all too neat, too easy.

As she looked around, Hellen noted how uneven the deck surface was, as if there were extra layers pressed on top of each other. Feeling a twinge of dread, she was about to give an order when the floor suddenly shifted beneath her feet.

Men sprang from hidden hatches on both sides of the deck, each holding a line of rope. They tugged in union and a giant net reinforced with rowan wood and leaves whirred up from a mechanism to cover the deck. Hellen tried to move in time, only for the rowan to bite into her essence and immobilise her.

At the same time, a group of pistoleers emerged from below deck and fired off rounds. The bullets ripped through members of the Belson clan who were sluggish from the rowan and Hellen saw her sisters fall to the ground in agony. Normal bullets couldn’t do that. They must have been made from special materials and it dawned bitterly on Hellen that she’d walked into a trap.

Roaring in defiance, Hellen reached into her belt and took out her razor-sharp-throwing shells. She tossed the first at a nearby pistoleer, catching him in the throat. The second slashed the wrist of another gunman, disarming him and giving Golda an opening to cave his skull in.

Jagged pain rippled through Hellen’s leg as a bullet whizzed into her thigh. The sting of runes took the wind out of her and she fell back onto the net, stunned. In her torpor, Hellen could only watch as her sisters were hamstrung by the net and firepower of the crew.

As the gunmen took up firing positions around the net, Claude Blanchet swaggered into view, followed by two Questers. An older man and a young man, both dressed in black uniforms marked with the golden rowan tree crest of their Order. The crests flashed like a curse in the smoky half-light.

Blanchet positioned himself at the helm of the ship, looking down at Hellen with a smug expression. How she longed to wipe that smirk off his fat face.

“A fine day’s catch, gentlemen,” Blanchet said. “The most lucrative type of fish are always the ones that struggle. A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Madame Eslinger. The tales of your beauty do not do you justice.” Blanchet removed his pompous, feathery hat and bowed.

 “If there is any justice at all you’ll be at the bottom of the sea before the day’s done, coward,” Hellen seethed.

Tutting, Blanchet put his hat back on. “Manners cost nothing, Madame. Especially when I’ve gone to the trouble of preparing such a warm welcome for you at the behest of Master Fitzgerald. It’s not every day you can rely on the expertise of the famous Demon’s Blight for how to make your ship witch-proof.”

Blanchet motioned towards the older Quester and Hellen locked eyes with him. She’d heard that name before. The blackbirds loved their nicknames, loved finding new ways to intimidate and torture women who were simply trying to live free. Fitzgerald was one of the worst of them all and she glared at him to make it clear she wasn’t afraid.

For his part, Fitzgerald seemed unimpressed with Blanchet’s showboating and leaned down to whisper something into the merchant’s ear. “Yes, yes.” Blanchet muttered, unused to having his performance interrupted. Fitzgerald turned to his apprentice, squeezed his shoulder and went below deck.

“As I was saying I’ve spared no expense for us to have this time together,” Blanchet continued. “Madame Belson will no doubt appreciate the effort you’ve made on her behalf and I want you to know you’ll have the opportunity to see each other again. All you must do is turn yourself over to my friends here and the rest of your clan will survive in my employ. Refuse and I fear the Belson clan will be wiped from the map today. What say you?”

Hellen gazed at her clan, on their knees, heads raised, shoulders high. Servitude was a death sentence. She looked to the sky, feeling the gentle touch of rain on her skin. A shadow passed above her, the beat of wings.

“I say you’re all going to die,” Hellen sneered and a large bird swooped down, smashing into a pistoleer and carrying him over the side of the ship. Another bird dived out of the mist, sharp beak exposing rows of serrated teeth. It tore through a sailor’s jugular, devouring his head and lifting the body away to be finished off.

The morek descended like a nightmare, slicing through the net, picking apart the crew and sending them into a flurry of fear and chaos. Blanchet got caught in the fray, his face deathly pale.

A morek swooped in from the left, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck with its beak and lifting him up into the mouths and wings of its flock. The look of terror in his eyes brought Hellen grim satisfaction.

Another morek flew in, cutting through the parts of the net that entangled Hellen. Fluttering her great wings, the bird transformed, and Flavia stood in its place.

“You took your time,” Hellen quipped, shaking off her sluggishness.

“I was busy becoming leader of the flock,” Flavia retorted, giving a tired smile. Hellen could see the discomfort in her eyes. Flavia didn’t revel in battle and blood. She’d done what had been asked of her and Hellen loved her for it.

 “Go and find Araxie. I’ll take care of things up here,” she said, changing back into bird form and rejoining the fight.

Putting pressure on her good leg, Hellen gritted her teeth and whispered a spell. The bullet lodged in her thigh slipped out and she gasped in pain. Limping towards the lower decks, Hellen saw a figure coming towards her through the mist and avoided the whistle of a silver chain that whipped past her hair.

Fitzgerald’s apprentice stalked towards her, a scowl on his face. He was younger than she’d first thought. More a pouting boy than a man. “You’re not getting passed me you godsdamned she-devil,” he declared.

“I don’t have time to play with children,” Hellen grunted, casting a spell and animating the rigging of the ship. Ropes twisted out towards the apprentice, catching him around the legs and dragging him aside.

Getting down the stairs, Hellen shuffled towards the deeper levels, following her instincts. She could sense the magic calling to her. On the third level, Hellen came to a rune-engraved door that had been cast ajar, enough that she could squeeze through without spending energy on a counterspell. Suspecting another trap, Hellen carefully eased past the door and into a small cabin.

In the middle of the room, trussed up with silver manacles, Araxie hung motionless. Her lustrous coral-red hair had lost its shine and her once sun-kissed skin was pallid. Several scars covered her arms and it broke Hellen’s heart to see her in such a way.

Hellen wanted nothing more than to hold her and erase all the weeks of pain she must’ve endured. She started by tentatively placing a hand on her cheek.

Araxie’s eyes snapped open and in them Hellen saw all the fear and rage of a trapped animal. She shuddered and Hellen tried to calm her. “Araxie, it’s me. I’m here. The whole clan is with me to get you out.”

Lucidity returned to Araxie’s features. Blinking away madness, Araxie’s voice came as a rattle. “You shouldn’t have come. Should’ve moved the clan to greener pastures.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you with these monsters,” Hellen cried. “We need you. I need you.”

Araxie answered with a creaky chuckle. “Sweet girl, you haven’t needed me in a long time. If only you could see how brightly you shine.” She broke out into a coughing fit and Hellen wrapped the woman she loved into her arms to keep her steady.

“I’m going to free you and you’ll be back on your feet and leading us to glory again in no time.” Hellen insisted.

“I’m afraid that’s not to be,” said a voice from the shadows.

Sitting in the corner of the cabin, obscured by darkness, Fitzgerald lit a match for his smoking pipe. White fumes glided across his face, making him appear as some ghostly apparition. “You’ve put up a brave fight making it all the way down here. Can I assume Blanchet is dead?”

Whatever Fitzgerald saw in Hellen’s silence, he took it for confirmation. “An unpleasant man. One I doubt the world will miss. Dealing with unsavoury folk is one of the few certainties in life. As are the lengths we’ll go to protect the people we love.”

“You don’t know the meaning of that word,” Hellen snarled, putting herself between the Quester and Araxie. “All you live for is to butcher and maim.”

“You’d be surprised,” Fitzgerald said. “Belson’s condition is not my doing. Blanchet and his men used her for their own ends long before I arrived. I’ve simply been keeping an eye on her until our deal was concluded.”

“How noble of you,” Hellen scoffed. “Your apprentice showed the same level of restraint when he lunged at me with a silver chain.”

 “McNab is reckless and has a lot to learn, I’ll grant you. Does he live?”

“I don’t care,” Hellen said, giving an honest answer. “Leave now and you may get your chance to find out.”

“A kind offer. But one I’ll have to refuse.” Fitzgerald chewed on his pipe. “In truth, you witches fascinate me. You’re capable of feats ordinary folk can only dream of and command forces to rival the gods themselves. You are pure chaos and therein lies the danger. Chaos brings ruin and order must be restored for the good of the world. I want you to know that I don’t have anything personal against you or your kind and that I’m simply doing my job. You’ll do what you have to do and so will I.”

“Pretty speech. Can we get to the part where you’re a bloody pulp at my feet?” Hellen grunted, whipping a throwing shell towards Fitzgerald’s head.

Springing from his chair, the Quester ducked the shell and shot off a round from his revolver. Gathering moisture from the room, Hellen forged a watery shield to block the bullet and tossed another shell that grazed Fitzgerald’s shoulder, tearing into his uniform.

Closing the gap, Hellen turned the shield into a staff and swung high, only to find air. Fitzgerald went low, kicking her legs out from beneath her. Landing roughly, Hellen winced at the pain in her thigh and used it as motivation to keep her going. Turning the staff back into a shield, she thrusted upwards, cracking Fitzgerald in the nose and forcing him to stumble backwards into Araxie.

Seizing her moment, Araxie lifted her legs and wrapped them around his throat, squeezing down and keeping the Quester distracted. Hellen leapt forward, shield morphing into a spear and aimed at his throat. With great strength and reflexes, Fitzgerald wound his silver chain around his wrist and lashed it across Hellen’s face.

The cabin blurred into a vision of agony. The silver cut down into her essence, a poison that shocked her to the core and left her curled up on the floor. Shapes floated above her and the darkness of Fitzgerald’s uniform blocked out the light.

She felt the burn of the chain again as it ensnared her. Then came the chanting. The awful incantation that tried to split her from all that she was. A crushing pressure descended on her shoulders, unseen hands tugging at her essence. Then the feeling of oppression suddenly disappeared, replaced by a sensation of strength and warmth.

Blue light flashed in the cabin and Hellen recognised it as pure magic. Araxie. She floated on the spot, as brilliant as the moon above a midnight sea. In her hand she held the key she’d taken from Fitzgerald. The Quester lay motionless on the floor, unconscious.

“It’s time to go now, sweet girl,” Araxie cooed, touching Hellen’s face. “Time to accept your fate and lead the clan as you were always meant to.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Hellen breathed.

“I’ll always be with you. Now I go to Sorani’s side and drown these bastards as tribute.”

Hellen felt Araxie’s lips on hers. The taste of a summer breeze, of slack tide rolling on a beach. She felt her wounds heal. Forcing herself to leave, Hellen returned to the deck and dived into the water, guiding her sisters, her clan back to shore.

***

Sitting on the beach of Gallows Bay, Hellen watched the tide come back and forth. The sun glistened on the water. Noting something shiny in the shallows, Hellen waded in. It was a purple seashell. Araxie’s favourite colour.

A few tears slid down her face and Hellen closed her hand around the shell. She sent a silent thank you to Sorani for the gift, bittersweet as it was. One day she would join her love at the goddess’ side. In the meantime, she had a clan to lead.

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You can also read some other stories from The Frontier including Shadows At Dawn and Playing It By Ear.