Briar Coats and the Tunnel of Styx

By K.J. Long

Briar is a wild boy. Living in a mangrove-tree city, he has been assigned the job of builder, but he is desperate to become an explorer.
At least he can swim in the lake for solace—that is, until he realizes that he can breathe underwater!
There he meets Verity, a person who looks like him, but she has a long flowing tail and a green glow. Verity helps Briar learn the truth about his father’s disappearance, and helps him change the underwater world of Naraka for the better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.J. Long
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020

Book preview

1

The Vertical City

Briar Coats swims beneath the crystal-clear surface of the saltwater lake. His dog, Max, paddles expertly alongside him. The sandy-brown fur on Max’s back is covered in white spots, and it sways with the current of the water as they swim deeper. It’s peaceful beneath the surface, the only sound being the water rushing past Briar’s ears.

As they reach the clam beds on the lake’s sandy bottom, Briar releases a few bubbles from his lips and hurries to fill his dive bag. While he works, Max slurps some clams straight from their shells with his razor-sharp tongue. The flavor of the clam is intense, but mixed with sour mushroom jelly, it’s so amazing, it can melt your cheeks clear off your face. Briar’s stomach growls at just the thought of it.

Most people don’t realize it, but it’s easy to stay underwater for a long time in the lake at the very center of Silva Rum, at least for Briar. He’d stay in the warm salty water forever, if he could, but he only has enough breath left to gather sea mushrooms at the lake’s edge. There, tightly braided mangrove vines begin their ascent from the lake’s bottom to the clouds, over three thousand feet, their impassible tangles serving to wall off the city in the trees from whatever might be outside.

With no land to speak of, the city of Silva Rum is vertical, built within and onto a huge grove of mangrove trees growing from the water inside the wall of vines, nearly five miles wide. The enormous trees jut out of the water at crazy angles as they weave their way to the sky, tangled with vines and dotted with leafy spots here and there. Houses and other buildings have been built over time, either hanging onto the sides of the trees or sometimes hollowed out within them, from the docks at the lake all the way to the sky. The city is very old, and most of the buildings have been surrounded with newer mangrove vines as well.

Max paddles hard, leading the way through a field of seaweed that shoots from the sand at the bottom of the lake, stretching straight out of the water and toward the sun. Briar follows, dodging in and out of the maze of huge fronds, each of which is as wide as himself. Unlike the clams and mushrooms he’s gathering, the seaweed isn’t as tasty. He’s never been hungry enough to try to eat it, not with the abundance of other plants available in the lake.

Max pops out of the seaweed field first, followed by Briar. They swim toward the puffy fungi that grow out of the sand, their tops dotted with globs of red jelly. Briar swipes some of the jelly pellets that seep from the pores of the mushroom tops, and secure them inside his bag.

Eyeing a slimy slug, Briar grins and scoops up the yellow lump. Spinning, he flings the slug through the water at Max.

The slug sticks to the dog’s fur and he twists around, pawing at the slimy thing. Freeing it from his fur, Max transfers the sticky creature back and forth between his paws, desperately trying to rid himself of it. His tail flaps dramatically in the water with each twist of his body, his claws extended so far that Briar can see the tiny webs between each toe. He’s laughing so hard at Max’s comical antics, he releases the last of his breath and has to kick to the surface.

As he reaches for the dock and splays his hands on the warm wood to lift himself out of the water, a voice shouts at him.

Briar!

Shaking his head, he whips the water from his short brown hair and looks up at his mother frowning down at him from the dock.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Rose says, You’re late.

I thought you might have had to work late. Briar gives her his gap-toothed smile and his saddest puppy-dog eyes.

Like I would miss the mayfly festival, she says. Is this how it is now that you’re thirteen?

As he pulls himself out of the water onto the dock, she picks up his funky overcoat made of green fabric scales that he left there before his dive. He knows the coat bothers his mother, but she complains even more about the drawings of fanciful underwater creatures on his skin.

Frowning, she gestures at him. What have you done to yourself this week?

This is a giant clam with a black tongue. Briar proudly points to the pictures he’s drawn on his stomach and arms. And this one’s a golden snail.

His mother shakes her head and turns to lead the way. Briar grimaces at the loudness of her shoes clomping along the dock’s wooden planks. His bare feet make far less noise. Soon, he’ll have to wear shoes as well to work with the building crew he’s been apprenticed to.

Max follows loyally behind him.

A thought occurs to Briar as he pulls on his jacket, and he asks his mother, You really never dove?

Sure didn’t, she says.

But my dad dove all the time?

That’s right.

And he loved to climb too?

Rose gives him a sharp glance. You know he loved to climb.

That’s right. And he got to do what he loved. He got to be an explorer.

She stops and turns toward Briar to place a hand on his shoulder. And where is he now?

Briar keeps his lips sealed as his mother releases a sigh. He knows his father is missing. It stings to hear her use this against him.

This is a big change for you, Briar, and I know you won’t be doing exactly what you want, but let’s really try to have a good time at the mayfly festival. I only have thirty more minutes before I go back to work.

A twinge of guilt pokes at him. Why does . . .

She gives him a stern look, but he’s too distracted by the sight behind her. He stares, his mouth agape.

Briar? His mother waves her hand in front of his face.

He points a finger at a cloaked figure about fifty feet away who swings a net at the fluttering mayflies that have started to rocket out of the lake and into the sky.

Who is it? his mother asks him.

Baldo, Briar whispers.

By the time Briar has said his name, though, Baldo has given up as the flies pass right through the net, time and time again.

Briar puffs out his chest. If he ever caught one, I would turn him in on trapping charges.

His mother frowns at him. Just because you’re starting your apprenticeship doesn’t mean you have to grow up all the way.

They turn to begin the climb along the bridges that lead to the city center where the festival is always held. An odd feeling that he’s been in this moment before washes over him, but Briar shakes the thought away.

Why can’t you catch the mayflies? he asks as they wind their way around a house to traverse another bridge. He’s never thought of this question before, as he’s never considered trapping a creature in a net. Hurting other creatures is forbidden in Silva Rum, which leaves plants as its residents’ major source of nourishment.

The festival of mayflies, his mother says patiently, honors the sacrifices of our ancestors who had the forethought to plan for us, their great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren. The mayflies appearing from the lake is a sign that we will eat well for the year. The flies are reflections of light, though. You can’t catch them.

Briar sighs as they get closer to the large carved statue of a man that no one remembers near the town center, a large platform that has been built in an open space between mangrove trees. He thinks back to how he used to leave notes under the statue every year for his dad. His friend Nolia had given him the idea, to help him get his thoughts straight. She told him to write notes and destroy them, but Briar worried about destroying his thoughts, so he hid them instead.

The noise of the festival brings Briar back to reality, and he notes the sameness of it all. Just like every year, the fruit stand is followed by the fish egg cart, which leads to the pickled vegetable section, and then honeys, herbs, spices, and oils round out the selections.

Isn’t that your friend Clover? Rose nods in the direction of a girl with shimmery green hair and gaudy clothes.

Can I get a honey stick tonight? he asks to change the subject.

For what? We can’t afford it, his mother says.

Never mind. Briar sighs, but then his voice rises in excitement and he says, There’s Nolia!

His mother relents quickly with an indulgent smile and a shake of her head. Go ahead.

Briar grins, but just for a moment as he shoves the bag of clams and mushroom jelly into his mom’s hands. Can you take Max home? Thanks! he calls before he weaves through the crowd toward an alley behind the shops.

As he takes the bridge between two storefronts, Briar slows his pace. He hasn’t really seen Nolia, so he’s chasing nothing in particular. But in his defense, he felt that bubbling urge to move, and he had to act on it.

He takes his time traversing a wall of tightly knit mangrove and reaches the entrance to the service tunnel where the footpath is worn smooth. Here, the mangrove tangle is so tight, nothing could be built, so tunnels were hollowed out to allow passage from one side to the next.

The paths down at this level are the darkest black at night, and even in the day are dark gray. For the first dozen yards of the tunnel, Briar can barely make out the buildings behind the braided knots. Still, he knows his way well and doesn’t need much light. He thinks this must be how Nolia feels moving through her world, unable to see.

Briar searches for anything new or interesting tucked within the wild stalks of wood. He follows the tunnel, slowly rising to the next level. His pace is steady, and the rhythm of it makes him a little sleepy.

For the most part, the path is clean and free of debris, but in these tunnels away from the crowds, there’s more to be discovered. Things tend to turn up in here, mostly sticks and old dried leaves. Insects chirp a tune that echoes in the archways, and Briar matches its beat with his feet.

Finally, the tunnel opens up to a larger space. The openings between the mangrove trees that shoot thousands of feet into the air allow him a clear view of the sky here. Briar pauses for a moment, enjoying the view both above him and below. The twinkling light in the windows of the houses built into the trees and vines is beautiful. Sighing, he decides he loves Silva Rum best at night.

Briar walks across a natural footbridge over a long drop-off. Wild vines hang low above his path, but leaves are sparse in this area. Giant vines shoot past him on either side. The next footbridge is only a few feet away.

Briar is heading for interesting nooks that lie just out of reach, which tend to fill with random debris. He squints, looking carefully in one, and there it is! It’s been months,