[Short Story] Liet Eventide

Home is an Atlas Turtle

Liet Eventide

The wilderness around my hometown was rife with brigands. They often raided my town, taking supplies or young mystical creatures, especially the bunyips, since their eggs couldn’t be stored indoors. The mud-monster bunyips always had their eggs in the soft muds around swamps. We tried to protect them… But the brigands were persistent.

At least they never got any of our atlas turtles.

Unfortunately, two weeks ago, the brigands went too far. They raided the local stores and broke into the houses of the shopkeepers. Then there was a fight, and the local tanner and his daughter were killed.

I had been away two weeks ago, helping some of the shipwrights construct a cargo vessel. If I had been here, I would’ve stopped them.

Now that I was home, I didn’t intend to forgive the brigands. Not now, not ever. And I wasn’t just going to sit idly by and wait for them to attack again. That wasn’t my style.

I preferred to be proactive.

“Liet?” my eldrin asked, her voice calm and focused. “I suspect we’re close.”

The swamplands at the base of the mountain were the thickest—and the most filled with water. It prevented most people from searching for the brigand’s hideout, due to the insects and dangerous terrain. But I wasn’t most people. And after three days of searching, I finally discovered where these land thieves had been hiding.

The brigands had their base of operations in a cave with two entrances—one in the swamp, and one that led to the ocean. It was the perfect hideaway. If they were attacked, they’d have a reliable escape route.

I stood on the edge of the murky water, behind a black willow tree, out of sight of the road or animal paths. The marsh around us was tainted with the colors of autumn. Red leaves, orange weeds, and brown water. In the spring, the marsh was green enough to become a giant emerald, but right now, it reminded me more of old age and death.

Nothing about that pleased me.

“We’ll need to be fast,” I said as I glanced over to my eldrin. “Can you handle that, Gentel?”

Gentel stared up at me with big eyes.

Atlas turtles weren’t known for their speed, that was for sure. Gentel—even though she was still young—was the side of a horse-drawn cart. If she tried to move over land by herself, it took her several hours to cross half a mile.

In water, it was a different story. Atlas turtles had fins—long green limbs, perfect for any sort of storm-filled waters. And Gentel’s were strong, wide, and half-covered in vines. Her shell, flatter than most, was wide and covered with dirt and a single tree.

Atlas turtles were surprisingly good at stealth, however. Whenever Gentel laid down and tucked her fins and head within her shell, the dirt and tree became one with the environment. No one could see the difference. Even I sometimes had trouble spotting her, and I had been bonded to her for three years.

Gentel’s tree, and the grass poking from the soil on her shell, were a vibrant green, a harsh contrast to the environment. That didn’t matter—the moment she tucked herself in, she’d blend right in. The leaves on her tree would become red, the grass orange. Atlas turtles and atlas tortoises had the ability to augment the land on their back for camouflage.

“We should go through the marsh,” Gentel said. She slowly turned her turtle head around and stared at her shell. “I can also hide, if needed.”

I stepped close to Gentel and placed my hand on her neck. The cold skin of her turtle body didn’t bother me. Some thought it disturbing, but I liked remembering that although we were very different physically, that didn’t stop us from understanding one another.

“Here’s the plan,” I said. “We’ll swim through the marsh using the water to hide. Then when we reach their hideout, you’ll stand guard outside, and I’ll go in to deal with them. Stop anyone who attempts to leave out the front, all right?’

Gentel closed her eyes and then nodded once. “Of course. But you must be careful. Old Man Marly said the brigands had crossbows last time they raided town.”

Crossbows.

A clever move, even for simpleton bandits.

Gunpowder didn’t do well in damp and wet environments. The brigands hadn’t bothered with flintlock rifles or pistols and had instead stuck to knives and cutlasses. But crossbows weren’t hindered by the swamps. The arrows flew true, and they could be just as deadly in the hands of someone with competent aim.

I smiled at Gentel. “You needn’t fret. I’ll keep my guard up.”

Gentel lowered her head and then bonked me in the gut. It was an affectionate gesture, but since she had gotten so large, it had become somewhat painful. I stumbled back a step and chuckled. I never suspected my atlas turtle would be a creature of physical affection.

I patted her head. “Everything will work out.”

“I hope you’re right…” She sighed. “You don’t have to do this. We could go back to helping the shipwrights.”

True. I didn’t have to do this.

But if everyone thought that way, nothing would get done. The bandits, thieves, and the pirates of the world would win. I couldn’t allow that.

“I’m not going to let them do whatever they want to innocent people,” I whispered.

“We could call on powerful arcanists. Some of them have guilds now.”

I shook my head. “Those guilds charge people outrageous amounts of coin. I can’t afford it. Even if everyone in town pulled their resources together… We still wouldn’t have enough.”

Gentel lowered her head. “I see.”

Most guilds did work for the kings, queens, and emperors. They weren’t interested in helping a backwater town on the edge of civilization. There was no fame in that—no recognition or fine parties or celebrations for a job well done.

And I didn’t need them, anyway. I had trained myself specifically to deal with these kinds of situations… Because I never wanted to be helpless again. I had faced a terrible situation in my past, and since then, I knew I never wanted to feel that way again.

“Let’s go,” I said. “One way or another, this problem will be solved tonight.”

With my head held high, I motioned to the swamp. Gentel turned away from and then dragged her large body into the murky waters. It took a few minutes, but the moment her shell got halfway into the water, she was buoyant enough to gain speed. Gentel lowered her head beneath the surface, leaving her shell as the only thing visible.

The tree and grass shifted colors, which meant she had tucked herself into her shell, just to gain the benefits of blending in. Once she had floated a fair distance, I sloshed through the water and submerged myself.

The swamplands were disgusting—most of the water was filled with chunks of moss, dead fish, and the detritus of the wilderness—but I had lived here all my life. The swamp no longer bothered me. I swam through the muddy liquid, never hurrying, so I didn’t make splashes or ripples.

My hometown crafted water-resistant clothing. The tailor had a special way he cured leather and sewed everything together. It made it easy for me to move without worrying about my outfit. I’d be wet, but my tunic, trousers, belt, and vest were snug against my body, protecting most of my skin.

I also wore gloves—one black, one white—not because I wanted to make a fashion statement. Both were trinkets. Although I feared I might break or lose them, I knew I needed an edge on the bandits, so I brought along all my best equipment.

My hair—always a distraction—flowed freely in the water. It was normally a nice sandy brown, but after a dunk in the swamp, I’d look like a hag from all the old tales my grandmother would tell of people who got lost in the wilderness and eventually turned into mystical creatures themselves.

The brigand’s cave wasn’t far. As I swam, I pulled a thread from one of my pockets and tugged my hair back, tying it in place, just to keep it from getting in the way. Nothing would be worse than having long hair block my vision.

I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

Gentel and I made it to the entrance of the cave just as the sun set. It was darkest then, when the sun first disappeared behind distant mountains. People’s eyes needed a time to adjust to the new lighting, and during that time, they wouldn’t see as well.

The lone bandit standing watch outside the cave had a smoke pipe in one hand, and lit stick in the other. He poked the stick in the end of his pipe, trying desperately to light his tobacco.

He wasn’t very good at it. The man cursed under his breath as he tried again and again.

The pipe was probably damp.

I snuck up through the water, my eyes barely above the surface. The man didn’t seem to notice me or Gentel. He was too consumed with his pipe.

I stepped out of the water, quiet and careful, off to his side. My slick clothing made it so that the water didn’t splash as I got out. The water rolled off my outfit, leaving me looking brown and disgusting, but keeping everything from making much noise.

With my breath held, I snuck up to him, mindful not to step on any twigs or loud leaves.

Almost there…

I wiped the mud from my white glove and then lunged for the man. The moment my glove touched his skin, I used my magic to activate the trinket.

The man tried to whip around and throw a punch, but the magic of the trinket took hold of him. He half-spun, staggered, and then hit the ground with a thump. His snores were as loud as the twilight crickets that infested the swarm. As soon as the sun went down, the insects came to sing their songs.

I smirked as I glanced down at my glove. The shimmering iridescence of an ethereal whelk had been used to make this magical item. Apparently, ethereal whelk arcanists could put people to sleep.

What a handy trick.

I rolled the man into the swamp water and Gentel swam up to deal with him. She would no doubt tie him up with the vines of the swamp.

After a deep breath, I turned to face the cave. It was a long and narrow pathway—dark and without light. There was a larger room in the middle of the cavern, and then an exit out near the ocean. The brigand’s laughed and talked, their voices echoing off the cavern walls. They had no idea I was here.

And no idea I was coming for them.

“Wait here,” I said, motioning to Gentel.

She lifted her head out of the water and nodded once.

Then I headed into the cave, keeping my body low and my stance wide.

According to everyone in town, there were ten brigands. I could safely assume the brigands would leave one person to guard each entrance, which meant there were eight inside the central room.

I carefully made my way in, holding the rock wall to guide me through the dark. After I rounded a corner, I spotted the flickering lights of lanterns, candles, and torches. With quiet steps, I made my way to the edge of the light.

Just as I had expected.

Eight people.

Six of them were older—in their late twenties or early thirties—and two of them looked like they had just come of age. Most pirates, bandits, and brigands didn’t live long enough to see “old age,” but these ones had clearly crafted a retirement plan.

Given the fact the man at the cave entrance didn’t know how to deal with swampy dampness, I suspected these brigands had traveled to this land from a far-off place. They had probably been chased out, and now they wanted someplace easy to target—someplace they could control through fear, even if they were getting older.

I almost charged into the group—just to be done with this—but I stopped myself when I noticed that one of the brigands was an arcanist. The mark on his forehead was prominent and easy to see. He was…

A bunyip arcanist.

And his eldrin was in the large cave room.

Bunyips were amphibious mystical creatures with large bulbous heads, elongated necks, and a body that resembled an emaciated ox. They had no fur, but they did have a mane like a horse. Their hair hung limp and thin, and constantly dripped mud, whether or not the bunyip had been near any swamps.

Their sickly brown coloration always churned my stomach.

Their mouths were filled with fangs.

Man-easters.

They were bloodthirsty creatures who liked to hide in the murky depths until people were nearby. Then they leap out and attack, much like a crocodile.

Bunyips weren’t always aggressive, but when they were, everyone feared them. If they were bonded to the right people, bunyips could be quite nice.

I suspected this brigand wasn’t one of those people.

“Once our fence gets here, we’ll be taking us a little vacation,” the bunyip arcanist said.

The man had a beard down to his collarbone, and an odor I could smell from the other side of the cavern. He wore a large shirt, but his gut was attempting to escape through the button-up front. The man’s belt tried to coral everything, but it was clear that wouldn’t last long.

The arcanist held a mug high and toasted the group.

“Good job, men. We’ve got enough here for at least three weeks at a nice port.” He laughed and then hiccups. “It’ll give the people of this swamp enough time to recover, if ya get me.”

The bunyip yawned, showcasing its mouth full of fangs.

The arcanist’s contempt for life bothered me. If I killed him, the world would be a better place. But… Something about acting like a savage bothered me. The brigands didn’t mind killing for their convenience. I refused to be like them.

I’d make sure they paid for their violence and destruction. I’d make sure they tried to make the world right for all the wrong they did. I’d drag them all the way to the next capital city, if I had to.

And I knew Gentel would be with me. We were always likeminded in these situations. She had my back, and I had hers.

“I think the people ’round here might start settin’ up walls and guard towers,” one man said from a makeshift table made of wooden planks and barrels. “After the dead folks, you know it’ll happen.”

The arcanist waved away the comment. “With my bunyip, we’ll be fine. I’ll break their walls—and their spirits—and eventually the town leader will just give in to my demands. Soon we won’t have to raid them. We’ll come to collect our monthly protection payments.” The man laughed at his own pathetic plan.

Making people pay him to ensure he wouldn’t attack was the height of callous.

“When we leavin’, Kon?” one of the brigands asked.

The arcanist, Kon, shook his head. “In the mornin’. As we sleep off this rum.”

I could’ve probably waited for them to drink themselves into slumberland, but I didn’t have the patience. These scoundrels needed to be taught a lesson, and I wanted them to remember it forever.

With my head held high, I stepped out of the darkness and into the flickering light of their hideout.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I said with a forced smirk.

My mere words of greeting startled them. Of the eight, two fell over in the chairs, five grabbed crossbows, and the arcanist stood with wide eyes. His bunyip also stood and growled, its demeanor more like a dog than anything else.

The bunyip was large, though. Impressive. Not as large as Gentel—so I won my own tiny game of “whose eldrin is larger.”

“Who’s this kid?” one of the brigands on the floor shouted.

Kon tugged at his beard, his bloodshot eyes narrowing into a glare. “It’s some arcanist girl.” He held up a hand and stepped forward. “What’re you doing here, girlie?”

“Me?” I pointed to myself. “My name isn’t girlie.It’s Liet Eventide. I hope you’ll remember it when the navy takes you away and throws you in the brig.”

That response didn’t sit well with anyone in the cave. Kon hardened his expression and squared his shoulders. “Shoot her.”

The five brigands fired their crossbows, almost all at once. In an instant, I evoked barriers around me. They shimmered into existence and defended me from the bolts. All of them shattered on my defenses and fell to the ground in pieces.

The men gasped and some backed away.

“What was that?” one whispered.

A few others reloaded their crossbows. “Do it again!”

They fired again and again, this time staggered. I evoked a barrier every time I needed to, destroying their ammo. I didn’t mind if they kept firing. Soon, they wouldn’t have anything to shoot with.

The arcanist held up his hand and his men stopped. Then Kon snapped his fingers and pointed. “Get ’em, Bacardee.”

His bunyip, Bacardee, lumbered forward, its mouth large enough that it could fit my head inside. It’s hands and feet were human hands—or at least, close to it. Its claws scraped along the rock ground, filling the cavern with the sound of future violence.

But I was ready. When the beast drew close, I held up my black glove.

Bacardee lunged for my arm, but I nimbly stepped aside.

Bunyips were large and clumsy. I knew. I had seen them fight before. And I knew what having a large eldrin meant—they were slower than most, and easy to maneuver around.

I quickly stepped to the side and then touched the beast on the ribs. When I pushed my magic through the gloves, a burst of electricity surged out of my hand. The lightning lit up the cavern with bright intensity. Several brigands shielded their eyes and turned away.

The bunyip screamed and spasmed.

My white glove had the magic of an ethereal whelk, but my black glove had the powerful lightning of a raiju—a thunder beast. No creature could compete with a raiju when it came to lightning. They were powerful and menacing, and all who saw one remembered it till their grave.

They were sky-wolfs, capable of running on the air, and as black as night. They stayed in the sky, especially on moonless evenings, so they could travel without being seen.

Raiju used their lightning to disable anyone who dared threaten their domain. And now I would do the same.

No one was going to threaten my home again.

Bacardee hit the floor, smoke wafting from its body. Then I ran for the men holding crossbows. Two tried to fire on me, but they must have forgotten I was an atlas turtle arcanist. My barrier protected me from their attacks.

And then I touched two of them, shocking them both.

They collapsed to the floor screeching and crying.

When I turned to face another crossbowman, he threw down his weapon and held up his hands. I smirked and motioned him to the ground. The man threw himself face down on the stone.

One brigand ran for the entrance.

I let him go.

Gentel was hiding outside. The man wouldn’t even know until it was too late.

Three brigands tried to attack me all at once, each brandishing a knife. I effortlessly dodged their poor swings and then grabbed their arms. Using my magic, I shocked all three of them. And then I used my white glove to put them to sleep. They snored on the ground, some of them still twitching.

It amused me enough to smile.

All that was left was Kon.

Instead of rushing me, he waved his hand forward.

And evoked mud.

I should’ve known. I hadn’t even thought about it. And then the mud hit me in the eyes, and it stung. I stumbled backward, both my hands on my face. The mud of a bunyip was painful—they specialized in blinding their opponents.

Kon ran for me then. I heard him, but I couldn’t see him.

I tried to dodge, but it was no use. He struck me with some sort of blade, right across the stomach.

My fine leather clothing shielded me a bit, but it wasn’t enough. The flare of painful agony was enough to shake me. I gritted my teeth as I hurried backward, trying to put space between me and Kon.

“Ain’t no one coming into my home and attacking my men,” Kon shouted with a laugh. He swung again, but I managed to somehow dodge away. I just felt the disturbance in the wind after his slash.

I took my hands off my eyes and readied myself for another attack. “Ain’t no one coming into my home and attacking my people,” I said, mocking his broken speech by mimicking his tone. “Surrender now, or I’ll subdue you.”

“You’re dead, girlie!”

I evoked a barrier. Kon slammed into it, his grunt and frustration easy for me to hear. Then I lunged forward, my one arm outstretched. The moment I touched him, I sent lightning throughout the glove. The power of raiju could be as intense as a storm, but my trinket didn’t have that much juice. I shocked the man, and he hit the ground, but it wasn’t as much as I would’ve hoped.

I wanted to really let him have it.

This would have to do.

I knelt and touched him with my white glove, putting him to sleep. Then I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear away the awful mud. There was so much, and it was so… sticky. I only managed to clear away the gunk on one eye, and even then, it was a tiny amount.

With a sigh, I glanced around the cavern. Everyone was on the ground. I went around and made sure they were all asleep before grabbing their own rope and tying them with it.

Finally, I went to the back of the cave.

One guard was supposed to be here…

But when I arrived, I found nobody. They had built a tiny dock for their sad little ship, but even that was gone. Which meant the guard likely heard our fighting and fled.

I sighed, but it was only because I knew what I had to do next. Gentel would have to run him down while I dragged the other lowlifes back to town. It was the only way to make sure I had gotten all of them.

And I would get all of them.

With a smile—and one eye open—I walked back to the main cavern and dragged each brigand out, one by one.

I didn’t know why, but I had little fear when it came to brigands and bandits. When I had been younger, and most of my family was killed, I had thought the sight of all that blood would haunt me. But it seemed to have the opposite effect. The blood that ran in my memories deadened me to the fear. It fueled me. Every time I thought back, or thought of wicked individuals terrorizing others, I knew I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

Perhaps that was why Gentel had chosen me during the atlas turtle trial of worth.

She had said… She admired my willingness to help others, in all forms. Teaching them. Protecting them. Helping rebuild. Fostering a community. Watching them grow.

I smiled thinking back on it. I did like helping others. I did like protecting the innocent.

As I dragged the last of the brigands out of the cave—and finally got a breath of fresh air, clear of booze—I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

“I’m glad you returned safely, Liet,” Gentel said from the swamp water. “Someone tried to escape, but I made sure they didn’t leave.”

I gave her a quick smile. “I knew you’d handle it. Thank you, Gentel.”

“Of course.” She tucked her head back unwater, and then her shell and tree shifted color.

Part of me wondered how much longer we could stay here. Soon, Gentel would become too big for a swamp. And then I’d have to travel to the ocean, perhaps never to return.

That was okay.

As long as I had Gentel, I was home.