Chapter 4: 4: Contacting Phasoné

“Where are we going?” Bremi asked, rubbing his head. They walked out of the old theatre and towards the crowded streets of the Gorge. 

Vayra peered around the corner of the alley. She scanned every head she could see, searching for helpers. There were none. “Back to the harbour. We need to find someone who can help us.”

“We’re heading offworld?” Bremi’s eyes widened. 

“Unless the Mediator’s ship is on Decathe, yeah,” said Vayra. She leaned back into the alley and rested her back against the wall. It was all happening too fast. Three hours ago, they were looting a pirate’s apartment. Now, for the first time in her life, she was heading offworld. They had no money, and no way to buy her way offworld. She didn’t know how she’d do it—never before had she contemplated a situation where they had to get offworld without paying. But they had to. “We’ll stay together. We’ll make it all work out.”

“Alright.”

She stepped out into the street, and Bremi trailed close behind. They followed the flow of pedestrians, heads down and hands in their pockets. But still, Vayra knew they stood out too much. She walked faster. She had no hood to hide under. By now, the Helpers would know exactly who they were looking for. They would see her reddish-orange hair first, then they’d notice that she travelled with a younger boy. But once they escaped, they would be safe; Gréno’s influence didn’t extend far beyond Decathe. 

Vayra dared to glance upwards. The stairs out of the gorge were just ahead. The crowd inched closer to her every second, and she began to breathe faster. She couldn’t scan the crowd for threats, except for those closest to her.

“Sis?” Bremi asked. “You good?”

“I’m… fine. Just keep—” 

The crowd stopped. She bumped into the back of a fishfolk woman, whose manta-ray head swivelled to glare back at her. “Watch it, Gorge-scum.”

Vayra wanted to retort, to tell the woman that she had been the one who stopped without warning, but instead, Vayra only managed to hiss, “Sorry.” It was best not to stir up any more trouble for today, no matter how much she wanted—and would have, any other day. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The fishfolk woman turned forwards again and crossed her arms. Everyone had halted. They inched away from the center of the street. Vayra jumped up and down, trying to peer over the ranks of heads. She heard orderly marching, and weapons clanking in time with the footsteps. Then, she caught a glimpse of a brown peaked cap. It was a Redmarine’s hat. 

The marching stopped. The crowd swayed, and Vayra glimpsed a crimson coat and blue shoulder pauldrons. Redmarines, for sure. There was a small troop of them—maybe twenty. in total—led by a similarly-dressed sergeant. The sergeant drew his sabre, a thin silver blade with a single, straight cutting edge. He pointed it at the crowd and yelled, “Earlier this evening, there was a shooting in the upper city! A marine is dead!”

The crowd grumbled nervously. They parted, inching further and further from the marines. 

“We only wish to bring the culprits to justice!” the sergeant called. “Two young phoenixes were spotted fleeing from the site after aiding a Helper!”

Vayra looked down again, and she pushed Bremi’s head downwards as well. He gasped in pain. 

The sergeant continued, “The Lordmayor of Tavelle has declared: punishment for aiding a Helper is death! If you know anything about the culprits, you must come forth!” His voice carried a hint of uneasiness, as if he was only putting on a strong face and a fake show of force—following orders that weren’t meant to accomplish anything. Vayra felt hopeful for a moment. If she sensed it, then maybe the others did too. 

Then the fishfolk woman raised her arm. “They’re here! Right here!” She pointed back at Vayra and Bremi.

Vayra clasped Bremi’s hand. They had to run. She leapt towards the stairs, but the fishfolk woman stepped into her path. They collided. Vayra tumbled along the ground, tugging Bremi with her. The rough stone scraped her shoulder. 

“Step aside!” the sergeant yelled. “We will not ask again! Charge bayonets!” 

A wave of clicking rolled through the street; the marines cocked their muskets. Vayra scrambled to her feet, then pulled Bremi up behind her. The crowd scattered in fear, and she saw a clear path to the stairs. She sprinted, holding Bremi’s hand as tight as she could. 

A musket boomed. The shot struck a crate just beside Vayra. She leapt onto the stairs and climbed as fast as she could. More marines fired. The handrail exploded into wooden shrapnel just ahead of her, and a window shattered above her head. 

Bremi tripped on the last step up to a landing, and they both fell hard on the boards. A musket shot burst through the floor beside her, and another blasted through the sign overhead. It plummeted towards the platform; she rolled out of the way. “You alright?” she asked Bremi. 

“I’m fine,” he groaned. They both stood up, and Bremi pointed down the stairs. “They’re coming!” 

Another puff of smoke and fire chased after them. Vayra didn’t see what it hit. “Come on!” She pulled Bremi up the rest of the flight, then turned onto a bridge and crossed over the gorge. Shots leapt up from the street. One blasted through the lantern beside her. A shard of glass slit her cheek and flank, and another ripped through the railing. She stumbled to a halt, though—she had an idea. She ripped the candle out of the shattered lantern and pressed it against the bridge until the wood caught. The flame spread quickly through the scattered sawdust and wood chips, and she grabbed a handful of the flaming debris. As they ran, she sprinkled it behind her. The flames felt barely warm against her skin, but the cuff of her blouse blackened.  

When they reached the other side, an inferno engulfed the bridge. The marines couldn’t follow them. Still, she and Bremi ran. They passed by a row of storefronts clinging to the rocky wall, and then into a dark tunnel. It ran through the gorge wall to make room for a set of cargo winches and cranes. 

A shadow stepped into their path. Dark coat, pearlescent white mask? He said, “Say, kid… what’s goin’ on out there?”

Three more Helpers stepped out behind the first. Vayra dug her heels into the wood and skidded to a halt. She doubted the shadows did much to obscure her appearance. 

“It’s them!” one of the Helpers shouted. “Grab ‘em!”

Bremi pulled a stack of crates down into the Helpers’ path. One drew a pistol, and as Vayra and Bremi turned, fired it. The shot bounced off the ground at her feet and ricocheted down the gorge—he had aimed low. “Get back here! Gréno just wants to chat!”

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She and Bremi dashed out of the tunnel, then pressed their backs against the rock wall. There was nowhere to run. They couldn’t go back; they’d just get trapped at the bridge she had burnt. No, they had to go around the tunnel. She stared at the largest winch outside the tunnel. Its rope and hook hung down just low enough that Vayra dared to try her new plan. 

“Jump!” she yelled to Bremi. She clambered up onto the railing behind her. A musket popped in the distance. The shot flew harmlessly overhead, but they might not be so lucky next time. She let go of Bremi’s arm and leapt for the rope; he jumped too. They both clutched onto it. 

They swung around the edge of the tunnel. A spattering of shots chased them. When the first Helper raced out of the tunnel, he leapt after them—until a musket shot blasted through his mask and flung him against the rock wall. Vayra clasped onto the walkway on the other side of the gorge, then hauled herself railing. She held the rope steady, but Bremi didn’t need it. He rolled over the railing, then staggered across the walkway and fell against the wall. 

“Almost there!” she panted. There were only three more flights of stairs to the top of the gorge. Bremi resumed his sprinting pace, and Vayra chased after him. She glanced over her shoulder. The three remaining Helpers scrambled up the stairs a half-flight behind. She didn’t want to know what they would do if they caught her and Bremi, and she didn’t want to find out. 

At the top of the gorge, she glanced around to catch her bearings. Mountains to the left, Eternal Stream to the right. She sprinted towards the Stream. The harbour would be in that direction. 

She looked over her shoulder. The Helpers scrambled up the stairs on the opposite side of the gorge, and sprinted across a bridge. They were relentless, but also faster and stronger. They had to run.

“Do the fancy… shiny thing!” Bremi gasped between steps. 

Vayra yelled back, “It was the stone, not—” A boom cut through her words, followed by shattering paving stones and a pistol shot bouncing down the street. A shard of stone slit her calf. The Helpers might not have been trying to kill them, but they seemed willing to maim. 

Vayra didn’t allow herself to limp. No matter how much her leg stung, she couldn’t slow down. She and Bremi pushed through a crowd of pipe-smoking dwarves, and at an intersection, ducked under a slow-moving wagon.

Vayra had to do something. She had to reach Phasoné again. But without the Seekerstone, how could she? 

Phasoné had said that Vayra could return, though. She just had to find out how. She reached into her recent memories, and tried to conjure up the feeling of the void. Nothing. She tried to listen for the empty, eerie blankness. Nothing. She shut her eyes, hoping to draw a cloud of white before her gaze. Again, nothing. 

“Vayra!” Bremi shouted. 

She opened her eyes. The street turned. She tripped over a stack of barrels, and a Helper pounced at her. She rolled to the side, just avoiding the man’s grasp, then leapt to her feet. Another swung his flintlock like a club; she ducked under it and dashed away. To catch up with Bremi, she pushed herself even faster. The faster she ran, the more her calf seemed to bleed.

At the next intersection, they turned right again. Down the street, she had a clear view of the port. Hundreds of tallships waited in berths or were anchored offshore. They bobbed up and down in her vision, and with each step, they only seemed more distant. Behind them, the Eternal Stream glistened in the starlight. 

She then remembered the Seekerstone. When it had crumbled apart, there had been a trace of Stream Water left behind. Was that what made it work? Perhaps, if she came in contact with Stream Water again, it would help her contact Phasoné.

They slipped between a pair of wagons, but the Helpers were too slow to make it through the gap. It bought them time. 

The buildings ended abruptly, on either side of them, and they stumbled out onto a cobblestone wharf. It stretched for miles in either direction, curving with the Bay of Tavelle. Torches and lanterns shone all along it, lighting the few wooden piers that stretched out into the ocean. 

Vayra ran to the very edge of the cobblestone platform and stared down into the water.

“They’re coming, sis…” Bremi whispered. 

She glanced behind her. The three Helpers charged down the last stretch of road. But it wasn’t a good time to lose focus; she glanced back at the water. She saw wisps and swirls of iridescent, arcane water. Being so close to the Stream, there would be some Stream Water even in the planetary ocean. 

“Jump, Bremi!” she yelled. Stepping up to the edge, she raised her arms above her head and folded her hands together. She pressed her arms tight against her head, the dove off the wharf. 

Vayra plunged through the murky port water. As she sank, she forced her eyes open. All around, she spotted the shadows of bollards, or ropes connected to crab traps. The seawater stung her eyes and wounds, but still, she swam downwards. 

She searched in the darkness, hunting for the dim glow of Stream Water. It didn’t diffuse as most water did; it clung to itself and floated in tendrils. One passed in front of her face. She reached out, and, as she passed her hand through it, she imagined Phasoné’s void again. 

Nothing. Her lungs begged her to return to the surface. She ignored them, and reached for another wisp of Stream Water. This time, she shut her eyes, and conjured an image of Phasoné in her mind. That had to do it, right?

Nothing. 

If you need help, you must call on me.

Had Phasoné meant it literally? Vayra shot her arm out and swiped at a small thread of dim water. As her hand passed through it, she opened her mouth, and the dirty water rushed in. She held her throat tight, forcing herself not to breathe. Then, with the last dregs of air in her lungs, she tried to speak. “Phasoné… I need your help!” Her words were garbled by the water, and although she heard them, it didn’t sound like her voice.

Close your eyes.

Vayra did. The white veil fell. 

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