Whispers in the Reeds

Just like dusk, the pre-dawn gloom made the final two miles difficult. The lightening sky, combined with the dark ground, threatened to play tricks on the eyes of even diligent watchers with alchemical lanterns shining ahead.

Black jetty rock on the river signaled the approaching berth as the sun first cracked the horizon. The river witch had not made an appearance, although the crew had seen a large wake spreading just outside visual range. The macâhcâhk? Or just another resident of the Radisson River?

Amaruq turned her attention back to land. The Nawyet was only several boat lengths away now, the crumbling stone of the jetty beckoning. As a dock it was nearly ideal, a sturdy structure built 20 yards into the river where the water was deep enough for the trade boats. Bulrushes grew in thick clumps around the jetty, extending from the shoreline using the shallows created by the earthen fill. On shore, scrubs and tall prairie grass was visible on the rocky soil, and above it all sat the heap that gave the berth its name.

The Watchtower was a squat pile of weathered stone, a pair of oddly mismatched towers side by side clearly built by the same people as had built the rest of the structures in the Northlands. Perhaps five hundred paces away up on a grassy hill, with a good view of the stretch of river south of the Empty City. Amaruq looked at it while Hannah and the crew expertly maneuvered the boat in.

It was unusual for a river boat on the southward leg to stop at Watchtower on the Eastern shore, and double so for a boat to sail through the night and dock at dawn, but it happened. A slow journey, with the captain and crew seeing the extra pay for timely delivery evaporating from their purses, or poor weather on the horizon might encourage some risk taking. Captain Amaruq was not one to push things as a rule, but she was gratified and proud to see how the crew handled it.

With care, the Nawyet drifted the final few paces until the padded bundles set out against the hull bumped into stone. The wind picked up, rustling the tall bulrushes in their clumps around the jetty.

“Docked, lash lines!” At Hannah’s call Alexandra and Ipellie hopped down onto the dock and pile hitched the ropes from the Nawyet firmly to the stone columns.

Amaruq could not stop looking to the river. In the dawn’s light, the small waves kept catching the eye, playing tricks. Twice the captain saw a large bird skimming the surface and both times her breath caught at the split-second thought that it was the river witch come back for vengeance. The second time, she sighed at what turned out to be a heron going about its business. It was going to be a paranoid trip, for certain.

She was not the only one. Lisa, in her thick armor, with her war-hardened shield strapped to her back, scanned the waves constantly, her off hand tapping a tattoo on the hilt of her bastard hand-and-half. The crew worked to settle the sails, but there was a nervous energy Amaruq could feel. No joking, no half-hearted loafing at the end of a long shift.

Near the bow, Shirisha was standing still, her expression somehow more grave than usual. As Amaruq watched Kireama approached and said something, but the mountain clanswoman made a sharp shushing motion and the girl fell silent. The captain watched, uneasy, as Shirisha held both hands to her ears, cupping them to block out noise from the boat as she did a slow turn on her heels, frowning.

There was something… off. The birds at dawn were normally almost as loud as the sailors, especially by the shore with all the vegetation. But other than the susurration of the river drifting past, it was oddly quiet. Nothing moved on the river, and nothing on shore.

Amaruq strode to the aft. Hannah was still focused on the crew’s work, but Hyvin was standing with Macha, who looked ill at ease wearing an antique breastplate and a long knife at her belt. At the captain’s approach, Hyvin nodded to Macha, who spoke, “Cap’n, it is probably nothing but I just noticed that flotsam yonder.” An outstretched arm pointed Amaruq a hundred paces downriver.

Squinting, Amaruq debated calling for someone to grab her long spyglass, but she soon saw what caught the clerk’s eye. A bit of pale grey undulating with the waves, probably canvas, and some wood floating against some rocks near the shore. Not terribly unusual, but presumably recent as the wood would sink eventually, even the porous stuff used for shipping crates would not float for more than a month.

“Someone lost some freight, maybe the Margit, they always run cargo on deck, with the tiny hold on that sloop,” even as she said it, Hyvin sounded doubtful.

“See, there again!” Amaruq turned at the new voice. Ashe was amidships, pointing at the Watchtower to Hannah. “I swear I saw somethin’ move! The tower on the left, where the wall is half caved in!”

“I can’t see shit that far, not in this light, but I’ll trust your young eyes,” Hannah groused. She noticed Amaruq paying attention and began to walk over, her expression uncertain.

The captain had already decided. One bit of oddness was easy enough to ignore or explain away, even considering the circumstances of the macâhcâhk’s attack the previous night. But as crusty old Admiral Laine One Hand told her captains, a commander had to trust her ‘sormenpantunta’, the ‘finger tip feel’ sort of intuition that all soldiers aspired to.

Even before Hannah could speak, Amaruq began, “I mislike this berth, actually. Let’s unmoor, get back midriver and perhaps we can-”

A sudden odd sound caught her attention, and Amaruq went still. A sibilant whisper from shore, there and gone. Then, almost a rattling sound, like empty, dried reeds banging together in the middle distance. Barely loud enough to hear.

Hannah froze as well, her eyes widening in confusion and more than a hint of fear. The crew stopped, the young ones looking around, at the river and the shore, some of them hearing the sound and others reacting to those that did.

“Blessed Taqqiq, no,” Captain Amaruq breathed out, in utter disbelief.

Lisa spun around too, and the rest of the old hands. Her belly full of ice, Amaruq hurried over to the port side railing, to look at the shore. A few dozen paces up the wide part of the beach, where shrubs and small trees grew together, a muscled creature rose up as if from a hole in the ground, a gnarled staff held in its scaled hand, and even at a distance Amaruq thought she saw triumph in its eyes.

The clumps of reeds were moving, some as if in the breeze but a few more so. A scaled snout emerged from one such bundle, and the captain could see now, plain as day, that it was in fact vegetation tied together, a clever hide.

“WARE THE REEDS!” bellowed Lisa at the top of her voice, but Amaruq could only stare as first one, then another, then two, three, four more screens of bulrushes were tipped over. Green, yellow, and red figures emerged from the water, claws and weapons at the ready.

The lizardkin had always been ambush predators, and the captain felt the old mindless terror rise up in her as they climbed onto the pitted black stone of the jetty and began to rush the boat, their hissing voices raised in exultation.