Page 4 of Guarded By the Vodnik

A particularly large wave crashed against the cliff, making me wince. Clammy sweat covered my body under the tight suit, and I shivered harder. My gloved hands were jittery, even though I hadn’t had coffee that morning, too wired and anxious to add caffeine to the mix. I only forced down an egg and some cherry tomatoes, the food weighing down my already heavy stomach.

“I read there are sentient water snakes down there,” I said, my voice growing hoarse. “They are huge. And carnivorous.”

I knew it was futile and childish to argue at this point. I had agreed to this plan, but then it sounded so much more reasonable when discussed in a warm, well-lit safehouse.

Now, facing the tumultuous mass of freezing water beating against the shore, I felt small and helpless. And I would be, essentially, even though I had state-of-the-art gear at my disposal.

My suit was supposed to keep me warm in the freezing lake, and my oxygen tank only required emerging every twelve hours to replenish. I was promised a dry safehouse on the lake bottom, where I would spend most of my time.

And a bodyguard who’d protect me. A vodnik.

“Vodyan will keep you safe,” Agent Narita said with confidence. “There is nothing to be afraid of, Zoe.”

I shivered harder, this time not from the cold. As soon as I found out who’d guard me, I spent a few hours googling vodniks on my secure phone, and what I found out inspired both confidence and dread.

They were strong, deadly, and kept to themselves, mostly living in large communities in the Great Lakes. Even though vodniks thrived both in water and on land, they preferred to stick to their cities, where they also built dry spaces under water. They were talented builders and a wealthy nation due to their shanta production.

They were also magnificent. And terrifying.

If one stretched an adult male vodnik in a straight line, he’d measure almost ten feet from the top of his head to the tips of his tentacles. Most of that length was in the tentacles, which were usually loosely coiled, hiding some of that size.

And still, vodniks were enormous. I saw a chart comparing an average vodnik’s height to a banana, a human, a shehru, a bear, and a tree. I already knew my bodyguard would tower over me.

Vodniks were covered in green, blue, or purple scales that looked hard and jagged in places. They seemed sharp enough to cut if touched.

Their faces looked vaguely humanoid, and yet not. Their eyes were deep-set and narrow, noses flat, cheekbones sharp, and their heads were decorated with symmetrical spiky protrusions. They wouldn’t look any less approachable if they wore red signs reading “DO NOT TOUCH”.

And even though their arms were a humanoid feature, they were also unsettling. Muscular and thick, scaly, and ending in large, claw-tipped palms, they seemed made for strangling and ripping things out.

And then, there were the tentacles. I actively tried not to think about them. If I did, my stomach squeezed with something that was partly revulsion, partly a hot, squirmy feeling that I didn’t dare analyze.

Another thing I purposefully ignored was the nudity. Since vodniks reproduced like mammals, their females had breasts that they proudly displayed—all four of them, because multiple pregnancies were common in their species.

Thankfully, the males kept their junk hidden inside their bodies. It only came out when they were aroused, so I was confident I would never see a vodnik prick live, ever.

But I had sneaked a peek at vodnik porn during my googling frenzy. In the light of day, it felt wrong, though, and I was deeply ashamed of myself.

My face flamed. Here I was, about to meet my new bodyguard with whom I’d be stuck for the foreseeable future, and what did I think about to calm my panicking heart?

His huge, prehensile, two-pronged dick.

“We’re ready to go!” Agent Beck shouted over the crash of the waves.

“Thank God,” I muttered when Agent Narita firmly held my arm and guided me down the gentle slope to the motorboat bobbing ten feet away from the shore, its engine running. Agent Beck, a blond man in his late thirties, was already on board, his lifejacket the only splash of vivid color in the dull landscape.

It was just after dawn, yet the sky was overcast, only a few shades lighter than the murky water. Everything around me was gray, and I felt small and insignificant surrounded by the monochromatic austerity of Lake Superior.

I was sure it was lovely when the sun was out, though. It wasn’t the lake’s fault I had to dive when the lighting was at its most severe.

“Good luck,” Agent Narita said, giving me a firm pat on the back. “You’ll be fine. Vodyan is already waiting at the pickup point.”

I nodded, my throat too constricted to speak. I was about to dive deep into a lake that was known as one of humanity’s largest freshwater graveyards, haunted by huge bloodthirsty snakes and who knew what else.

My job as a kindergarten teacher hadn’t prepared me for this. Not in the least.

Though if I were in a better frame of mind, I might have made a joke about my kids behaving like a school of piranhas sometimes, all starving for my attention and ready to tear me to pieces.

God, I missed them.

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