Discovery
I watch Nyla from my favourite spot at the bottom of the river. It’s where I feel safest, away from people, away from my family, here where it’s deep enough that no one looking would see me lying on the riverbed. The water in my river is clear enough in most sections to see the bottom, which doesn’t give me many hiding spots.
People know I exist, of course, and pray to me daily. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. They say that for years now the river has been better, cleaner. My predecessor didn’t take good care of it. The people see glimpses of Nyla sometimes, as I regularly send her down the entire length of my home, the Kolta, to assess the state of the river.
She is above me now, lazily twisting her serpentine body in the water. Her scales match the water perfectly, and if I was looking from above she would be nearly invisible in the blue-green ripples. From below I can see her shadowed belly as she swims. At my silent command she turns to the bottom and curls herself around me, giving me a happy rumble that resonates in the water. I scratch her head fin and her little fluffy mane and she gives me her dragon version of a purr, a low raspy grumble.
We stay like this a while, just lying peacefully until I see a series of small rocks plunk into the water and drop near me. I look to the edge of the river and sure enough, there’s my dad, his form wavering from the ripples on the surface. Three rocks means dinner. I disentangle myself from Nyla and swim up, my long blue hair flowing behind me. I walk out of the river and take a breath of the chilly evening air while my tiny disappearing gills expel the last of the water in my lungs. I let all of the water soaking me go back to the river, leaving me dry and no longer blue. As a river goddess I have two distinct forms. Once dry I regain my black hair, dark blue eyes and slightly tan skin. No blue hair, tinted blue skin, flowy tattoos and certainly no more gills or glowing eyes.
“Kalliope, you know better than to keep your mother waiting. She works hard to make our meals,” my father chides.
“I’m sorry. I lost track of time.” It’s my usual response, and he knows it. He just huffs in a disapproving tone and leads me back to our cottage.
Perched near the bank of the river, our little home is a work of art. My carpenter turned farmer father built it himself using stones from the banks of the Kolta and the dark wood of the Karser tree, a northern relative of the oak tree but darker with nearly black leaves. These trees only grow in our area, where the volcanic range meets the steep cliffs of the Cerulis mountains. The darker wood accentuates the blue tones in the stonework, which is also shaped like little waves on the walls of the cottage. The place is quaint and warm, small with just one open area and two sleeping areas, mine being the loft.
When we get inside, my mother is sitting at the round table built from a slab of the same Karser trees that form the walls, its surface marked by the many years of use. Her slightly raised eyebrow is all I get as a greeting so I eat in silence, hoping not to start any argument. I love my parents, but lately it has been difficult to keep up with what they want from me. I’m not a farmer, nor am I good at cooking or cleaning or generally any homemaking. On land I feel clumsy and inadequate. Nyla feels the same, preferring to stay in the water where she can be comfortable and hidden.
“I think it’s going to be a great harvest again this year,” my father says.
He was never meant to be a farmer, but he does his best. He had a good career in the cities as a carpenter until he got drafted into the war. His time as a soldier led him to want isolation. He’s never mentioned what happened but after a battle in Winter town, the most contested northern city between Malkia and Cerulis, he came home with his spirit and body broken. My mother healed him as best she could and they decided a quiet farm life would suit them best now. That’s until I was born. Then, the isolation proved necessary to hide me from the Godking.
As a deity born in Malkia I am supposed to be in service of the Godking, as a slave or a wife to one of his godly children. Slave and wife mean the same thing to those monsters, and my mother knows it too well. Her closest friend was a goddess. A goddess of air, able to float and control the wind, drifting along until the Godking discovered her existence when she was only eleven. She was given as a wife to prince Corven, who kept her inside and chained so she wouldn’t fly away. My mother heard rumors that for years he would rape her until, battered and broken, she finally gave him a child. Weak from being kept from her element, she barely carried to term and died in childbirth. The child was unhealthy and misshapen, which put Corven in a foul mood and he threw the newborn off the walls of his castle built into the side of the volcano he presides over.
Corven was killed a couple years ago by a jealous brother, and the new volcano deity is but a child in the Godking’s castle. A child that will probably grow up to be as cruel as his predecessor.
Sometimes I find myself thinking about how I would have ended up if I was discovered that young. Would I be dead now? Would there be a new river god growing up on these banks, letting their familiar swim circles around them? Where would Nyla have been? Dragged on land with me to live far from these shores? Maybe because of the importance of the Kolta they would keep me imprisoned in Idîl, the largest city on the river bank, and also the most dangerous. Idîl and its twin, Rhysîl, sit on either side of the border between Malkia and Cerulis. The famous three bridges go over the Kolta and allow passage between the two kingdoms, although getting across is no easy task. They are heavily guarded to ward off attacks, and people wishing to cross must pay tolls and be thoroughly examined in case of espionage. There are other ways to cross my Kolta, the easiest one being by boat, but people fear Nyla, even though she knows to stay away from boats. Solis, the river god before me, used to send his Arapaima familiar to sink boats going to the Cerulis side, as he was a pawn of the Cerulis kings. He was killed by Malkian soldiers who were trying to capture him for the Godking. When he found out, the Godking executed every soldier in that party and then sent nearly an entire regiment to comb the streets looking for the new baby deity that would be born after his death. Me.
When he came up empty he figured the new river deity was Cerulisan, and the war went back to how it was, neither side gaining or losing, just living in a constant state of aggression.
“We should hire some help this year. I think we can afford it,” my mother replies, jolting me from my thoughts. “We both know Kalliope can’t pull her weight on the fields, and you can’t do it alone.”
“I could get Nyla to help me,” I say unenthusiastically. Nyla would prefer never walking on land.
“Yes dear, let’s get your dragon to help. Shouldn’t attract any attention from passersby,” my mother rolls her eyes like she’s the child here.
“Louv’s boy might be of help, and cheap too since Louv owes me for fixing his barn in the spring,” my father says, ignoring the dragon part.
“Yes he seems to have grown into a nice strong lad.” The one good thing about being a goddess is that my mom isn’t even thinking of matchmaking. Lester, Louv’s son, has barely met me even though his family is our closest neighbour and we are of the same age.
Finishing my dinner, I scoop up the empty bowl and place it in the kitchen, careful not to touch the water left in the basin. I don’t need the look my mother would give me for the accidental shift of forms.
Afterwards, I return outside, but this time I don’t go in the water. Nyla peeks her head out, cocking it to the side in answer to my emotions. The feeling of helplessness has returned. If only I could be good at something other than swimming and maintaining the Kolta.
Weeks pass and finally, the harvest is here. Lester did get hired to help and this morning I watched him arrive while mostly hidden in the bushes by the cottage. I haven’t seen him in a while, and his body has matured. His deeply tanned Malkian skin is tight on his arms, showing off some well-defined muscles that I imagine might feel like a rock smoothed by the current, soft yet firm to the touch. He doesn’t notice me and I keep checking him over. He’s wearing a linen shirt, but it barely covers him. Cut at the shoulders and left unbuttoned, it gives me a glimpse of his abdomen, and sure enough, it’s also showing off muscles. From there his belt and trousers block me from further skin, but my imagination fills in the blanks, and it is being unrealistically generous. I flick my eyes back to his face and remember why I never thought it would be a good idea to marry him even if I could. This time my imagination isn’t working hard enough to change the bushy-browed, boarish face Lester has. Disinterested now, I turn back and go to my spot by the river.
I spend the day there, uninterrupted as my father and Lester do the harvest and my mother tends to her garden and the soup cooking slowly on the fire.
“Alright kiddo, we’re done for the day. You can wash up in the river if you want.” I hear my father say it but don’t manage to get away quickly enough before Lester sees me behind the cottage.
“I was wondering if you were still alive,” he says, unkindly, his boots clacking on the stone path as he nears me. He gives me a leering smile and a slight shiver rolls down my spine. This farm boy might have a decent physique, but his attitude is terrible.
“Oh, Kalliope. Didn’t know you were back here. Lester, you’ve met Kalliope right?” my father asks, walking up behind him.
“Once or twice. Shy one though ain’t she?” he asks my father. The leer has disappeared, replaced by an innocent expression that softens his overgrown face.
“I’m not shy. I just don’t like getting disturbed by strangers,” I retort, even though his comment was aimed at my father.
“I ain’t no stranger. Been neighbours our whole lives.” He continues the act, my father none the wiser.
“So?” I want to make an exit, but Lester and my father are in my way.
Lester just shrugs nonchalantly and walks past me to the river. He takes off his shirt and soaks it, using it to rub the dirt off his face.
“You could be nice to him, you know,” my father says. Maybe, if he had been nice to me.
In the next moments, I regret not having shuffled past my father and Lester. I regret taking my eyes off Lester, because as I turn all I see is white as his wet shirt slams into my face. Too late, I rip the shirt away from my skin.
“Hang this up to dry for me will y…” Lester's voice dies as he sees my skin. My hair. My eyes. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open. He points directly at my face.
“You.. you!”
Nyla, sensing my change, pops her head out of the river. Lester sees her and struggles to get away in the wet sand clinging to his feet. Before my father and I can do anything, he bolts.
“Lester! Wait!” My father shouts after him.
Knowing I need to stop him, I run the few steps to the river. My feet firmly set in the shallows, I send up a wave from the river to stop Lester. It knocks him over but he’s up again too quickly. He glances behind him one last time before disappearing in the fields. Unfortunately, his house is not on the river so I can’t follow him in the water.
My father calls my name.
“Kalliope. Pack. Now. You have to leave.” His tone is clipped, his happy face from earlier now scrunching in anguish.
“What? But..maybe he won’t say anything,” I say, dread and hope mingling in my voice.
“He’s probably already screaming it. Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”
I’ll have to say goodbye. To everything.
My mother steps out in a rush. “What happened?” She asks my father, then realizes once she turns to me. “Oh, Kalliope, you didn’t!”
“It wasn’t my fault, I swear.” I will the water on me to go away and regain my normal state.
“It was Lester,” was all my father said.
I go in to pack, climbing the ladder to my loft, probably for the last time. I don’t take much. My two other dresses, my boots, a hairbrush. I look around and consider what else I should take. I grab the little dagger my father made me years ago. It’s not the best weapon but I hide it in my dress, just in case.
My mother helps me shove everything in a small bag. She opens the back door to let me get to the river. That’s when two sets of enormous arms grab me. I struggle, but someone slams a fist into my stomach, and I curl into myself, the sudden pain agonizing. The figure throws me to the ground.
“Stop. Leave her be!” My mother screams. My father mirrors her words behind her and then I hear him charge the men. They must be men. I open my eyes and that’s when fear truly sets in. They’re not men, but soldiers. How? It hasn’t been long enough for Lester to have made it into town and then for them to follow him back.
“It must be the young one,” says the one who hit me. “Kill the parents. They’re accomplices.”
“Yes, sir,” says the other one.
“Noooo!” I yell. The river rushes up the bank at my call and Nyla comes with it. Both soldiers pull out their swords, and while the second one goes after my parents, the first steps over me and meets the wave head on, Nyla with it. The water hits me and the pain in my stomach subsides, but then everything happens at once. The second man, his sword piercing my father through. The first, chopping off Nyla’s head. The beautiful blue scaled head landing in front of me before drifting away with the receding wave. Nyla’s body, falling limp. My father, telling my mother to run as blood pours out of the wound where the soldier just pulled out his sword. Then, blackness.
