Page 21 of Of Blooming Embers
8
YAYA
SERYN
“Come. Unless you want to head directly into that crocodile den you were about to stumble upon. It’s not a death I’d recommend.” The Druik walked perpendicular to the direction we’d been heading in. As he took long, confident strides, his ebony flames melted into his flesh, revealing a mesmerizing raven tattoo that spanned across his shoulder blades.
His muscles flexed, bringing the art to life. The inky wings spread wide as if the bird were soaring into the air. When the light brushed across the feathers, the ink shone like an oil slick in shifting shades of midnight iridescence.
Glaring at the male’s back, Gavrel’s nostrils flared as he sheathed his sword. I took his hand in mine and followed, pressing my lips together to hide the smile that wanted to break free. He would move with me. Gavrel wouldn’t let me fall into this Ancient-forsaken swamp.
We caught up to the stranger, and he glanced at me sidelong, his expression indifferent, and his straight nose lifted.
“So, how do you know my name then, Sir Swampy Bottoms?” I inquired, sounding extra precocious. This man seemed especially mercurial, and it made me want to poke his buttons. Not that he was wearing any.
His mouth twisted to one side. “The Augur informed Yaya you’d be here on this day. I had theprivilegeof fetching you,” he stated, sounding extremely inconvenienced.
“Augur?” Gavrel’s brow furrowed.
“She’s revered in this region for her prophetic counsel … assuming one finds such things credible,” the male muttered.
A smirk pressed into the line of my mouth. “Well, sorry to burden you, but can you tell us who the void you are? Although Sir Swampy Bottoms has a nice ring to it.”
A low chuckle vibrated in Gavrel’s chest.
The male’s arms flexed as he stabbed his quarterstaff into the water in time with his stride. He didn’t look impressed as his brows pushed together and his lips puckered. He took a deep inhale and freed it, his jaw slightly shifting to the side for a moment before he responded, “Marek Skiya.”
“Any relation to Neoma Skiya?” Gavrel asked. “We were told to find her.”
“Obviously. Why would I be here otherwise?” Marek countered with a condescending tone. “Yaya. She’s my grandmother.” He stopped, and I nearly ran into him before bracing a hand against his biceps. “Here we are.” He lifted his chin as I pulled my hand away, my skin sticky with the olive-colored sap.
He glanced at me, rolled his eyes, and scooped some water over my soiled palm. “You’ll be fine. It’s mucksap.” I blinked at him, and he regarded me like I had the brain capacity of a gilly toad. “From the base of the cypresses … it keeps the bugs at bay.”
“Where ishere?” Gavrel took a step and then halted, as though bumping into a wall. “Bloody void.” He rubbed his fingers over his nose, glaring at Marek.
My face scrunched in confusion as I observed the dense bundles of spindled trees and mucky water ahead. Marek glanced at us, hisdark blue eyes glinting mischievously before his ember flared once more.
Smugly, a hint of a smirk played on his lips before he faced forward and raised one hand before him. Dark flames guttered and twirled around his skin in a frenzy.
His shadows slithered over an invisible barrier, clinging to the air, ripping through it like parchment. All at once, the illusion of the unending mire crumbled.
I gasped, my breath catching in the back of my throat. Before us were at least a hundred dwellings balanced atop graying stilts or wrapped around the doombarks they clung to. Among the buildings, the trees were thicker, sturdier shades of gray than the ones we had passed along the way.
My eyes trailed up, focusing on the handful of homes perched higher up the trees. A series of plank and rope bridges interweaved between them, with various corkscrew stairs twisted around the trunks.
Between the buildings closest to the water, a smattering of footbridges zigzagged between and connected them. People, all dressed in varying shades of slate and soot, meandered along the walkways, chatting or working. Some openly stared as we neared.
Heading toward a rope ladder hanging from one bridge, we sloshed between two massive glass domes, submerged far to each side of us. I bent forward; my curiosity insatiable. My eyes followed the line of them to my left, peeking under and through the random spaces between stilts.
There were several submerged domes curving in a line around the perimeter of the settlements. They were familiar somehow, but I couldn’t determine why.
“What are those?” I inquired, straightening.
Marek grabbed the ladder, giving it a shake toward me and pressing his mouth together. I put my hands on my hips and stared at him, slowly blinking when he returned my glare.
His tongue pressed into his cheek, and he dropped the rope. “Conservatories.”
My mouth formed an O, and he rolled his eyes and climbed up the corded steps, muscles bunching as he went.
