Red Water Dreams: Lirical Series, #2

By R. A. Morley

Revenge is done.

Rescue is underway.

It's a race against time, where the outcome is either victory or death. As gods continue their games of fate and favor, Kal soon discovers he's not the only pawn in their schemes. With some more willing than others.

No one is what they seem.

Enemies in lieu of friends. Eurybians in the south. Demi-gods unbound from their prisons. And small help found only in the most despot places of Múrnig.

Kal's fervent resistance wavers as desperation takes hold. Stranded at sea, their team divided, and Avi's rescue stolen, their futures are entangled in a web of chaos and divine intention. 

Hearts will break as Kal faces choices and is forced to take actions that no amount of time could ever prepare him for. But, can he do it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. A. Morley
• Release date: Mar 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215212707

Book preview

Dedications

Thank you to all the friends who encouraged my imagination and made this book possible.

Thank you to my artist Jubalina.

Thank you to John Hoddy for rekindling my love of reading and fantasy

Without you, these books would only be dreams.

C:\Users\Amanda\Desktop\pomegranate-symbol1.png

Watch that old fire as it flickers and dies.

The Longest Johns

Prologue

He remembered the story of Illuska. As a child, she’d sing it quietly to him, holding on to the hope he might escape. If his captors heard it, they’d silence the both of them. Singing once thwarted a fallen god. In a cruel twist of irony, singing could release a fallen god. Or, at least, a fragment of one.

They’d talked about it sometimes, thinking he was asleep. And the collapse of Dayas’gar, where some of them—drowned-elves—tried to use a binding. Something stronger than elvish magic. But at the cost of your own life, and more.

It’d be worth it, he thought. It’d be worth it if he could end this. End them. If he could just learn how to use it.

He didn’t sing anymore, though. He remembered the story, but forgotten the words. Such is a life consumed by cruelty and a need for revenge. A need for closure. Not that it mattered now. There was no one to take his revenge on. Someone else ensured that. Yet, the anger remained inside him.

A new quarry. One he didn’t have time for. Not if he wanted to find something stronger.

He’d take out his own beating heart if need be.

Undying

Need some assistance ?

That same sensual voice cooed. Kal knew that voice from somewhere. It belonged to someone, someone dangerous.

He saw nothing, though felt the cold crush of the ocean.

Ready to make that deal?

Deal? Wait. That’s right. That’s who the voice belonged to. The voice of chaos.

Her gold eyes flashed open, lighting the dark around Kal as he both floated and sank, vulnerable and exposed.

A thought slid through his mind.

Did you send the titan?

Her face came into view, scoffing with loathsome displeasure. That was curtesy of what remains of Jörmungandr’s influence, after he swallowed his rival.

Jörmungandr? Kal didn’t know the name. A bygone god, maybe.

Surely, you see the value of having my favor.

Kal broke from his thought to stare at her.

Had you accepted earlier...

Persephone said—

And how did that work out for you? What help has she given the drowned-elf whose people despise her followers? Her many arms manifested, propping up her head as she had done before.

Kal didn’t know how to counter that. He was a dark-elf. A Thalassian. And Persephone was a Eurybian goddess. The mother figure of the sun-elves and moon-elves.

You need something more?

Kal selected his words carefully. Why do you need me at all?

She curled her lips into a cruel smile. Her center eye widened, sucking him into a vision.

Kal saw a pass, and the mountain south of it, settling in a high valley. A battle raged. Not between Eurybians and those they sought to conquer. This was a winter’s battle. Hulking grey men fought bare handed, dwarves with their heavy weapons, winged beings and skin-changers and centaurs and all other wild folk who held sovereignty through isolation. This was their battle and yet more than that, Kal understood.

Together they fought back cursed werewolves, vampires, the risen dead, and screaming wyverns. Chief among them was the tallest giantess Kal had ever seen. She looked half alive and half corpse, half fine, golden hair and half swamp-black hair, but wholly vile. And from her wicked hands, shadows of serpents and wolves took shape to enter the fray.

Watch closely, he heard.

A human stood apart from the crowd, masterful with his spear and armored like a champion of Eurybia—a victor of the arenas. He broke through the lines and battled against Hel, holding his ground with the help of some curious power.

Kal’s own inner fire responded, familial yet defiant and chagrin. No, it was welcoming yet destructive. He’d felt this before.

Still, the fight ended as Kal predicted. Hel wounded the human with little trouble, shrinking her size down to take his spear from him. In a final act of humiliation, she took her time. She knocked him to his knees, forcing him to an unintentional bow, and drove the point of his own weapon into his back, through his heart, and out his chest.

He didn’t cry out in pain. From shock, from fortitude, or from some other reason, he did not scream. He stayed pinned in a bowed position as the winds and snow fell silently over.

The battle quieted in Kal’s ears. He focused on the sound of this champion, his ragged breaths slowing—five, four, three, two...—until the final one signaled the end of his life.

Smug and satisfied, Hel let go of the spear and admired her work. She was shot back an instant later.

The Eurybian garbed human burst into a primordial titan, the manifestation of water in all its forms. Its liquid body writhed and thrashed—longer than any river and with more force than any ocean current—ripped from its mortal vessel. It loosed absolute destruction, shattering Hel’s body. A goddess’s body. Then it spiraled out of control, summoning sheets of rain in a war cry to carry its fury through the battlefield. Everyone became a target—it didn’t distinguish between friend or foe, acting as though it had only the latter.

In its wake, one of the gray giants stood back on his feet, a flat refusal to cow. We bow to no one.

The words rallied his kinsmen, set on a new creature that would threaten to destroy their home. Weather they understood the creature or where it manifested from didn’t matter. They began some strange mantra, a prayer of sorts, their limbs giving a faint glow and shaping into the symbol for Oreios.

It resembled dawn’s light, thought Kal. He didn’t know much about the giants of Heimnz Gaet, or any of the mountains for that matter.

The primordial titan didn’t hesitate in its attack, slamming and thrashing them about with ease. When one giant did manage to send out a bolt of his own energy, the titan focused its fury on him.

Bodies of the dead and the wounded lay scattered across the grounds.

Having annihilated two armies, the primordial thing began to slow with (what Kal guessed) exhaustion.

Another gray giant, younger by the look of him, stood once more. His body battered, his legs shook beneath him. Yet, he didn’t shy away or cower. He stood stoic and sure, repeating the words of the previous giant—a giant that now lay lifeless.

We bow to no one.

The titan paused in its tirade, glaring, and threw itself down.

Still, the giant remained calm. He closed his eyes, assumed his stance, and waited. His breathing steadied under his command, and his prayer-like mantra began again. At the point of impact, Kal nearly missed it. It couldn’t be anything else, though. The giant threw his palm to meet the creature, and in the brilliant burning of light, it retreated inside him.

A new mortal vessel.

Kal’s vision pulled away, back to the emptiness between him and the goddess.

And that is why. She continued her sensual tone as she stared down at him.

Kal thought. You want me to destroy it.

In a sense. But, not so irresponsibly. Not the way others have tried.

That didn’t make sense. What he saw was a creature of chaos—a reflection of the goddess herself. Or, at the very least, a fragment of her nature.

Why?

Because it’s a part of my punishment. And it’s long overdue that I receive closure.

Kal discovered he couldn’t read a goddess any more than he could make sense of vague Eurybian statements.

If I do this for you, said Kal, hesitating, what will you do to help?

She smirked. I’m a goddess. I will loan you indomitable strength. Enough to quash even a dragon prince. Yours to do with until you complete this task for me. And, perhaps after. One of her many arms stretched out a hand. Do we have a deal?

Again, he hesitated. Some new strength or source of magic would ensure he could help Avi, ensure that he could get home again, even ensure the safety of Thalassa or any ship he sailed on. But at what cost? The real cost. Gods didn’t hand off power freely—it was never that simple. Every tome and every fairy-tale warned that dealings with gods were never so simple—always with a trick or great consequence. Even Illuska couldn’t escape the repercussions, despite his fame, his myth, and his memory.

Kal looked from the goddess’s hand, back to her wide, toothy grin. Of course, that was the cost. Why would any deity settle for anything less?

His hand trembled, slowly reaching out. There’d be no undoing the terms once he agreed. That inner flame felt torn, eager and resistant. Excitement, and terror.

But something happened. Something neither of them expected. After all, their previous conversations were isolated. So, when a two-pronged, iron weapon cut between them, a resounding boom vibrating Kal’s core, he retreated his reach and looked up.

A face like ivory, hair like night, and eyes like ice. His face severe, he banished Kal with a single glare.

Kal woke, choking and spewing out the salt water from his lungs.

Welcome back, said Avi. All the life gone from the half-elf’s voice as he tried to make a joke. What’s your death count now? Fifty?

Kal tried to speak and make some usual smug remark. Coughing, and more coughing, sharp breaths, that’s all that he could muster.

Since we’re shipwrecked, said Ermir, Maybe now we should get Hebi out here.

I can’t, said Kelso in his bland tone.

Kal continued his coughing fit, fighting to right his breathing.

Kelso, scolded Ermir, his voice taking a more dragon-like growl. Suck it up, go in the bottle, and say something nice—anything! If we stay here, we’re f—

Kelso lashed out. Because I don’t have the bottle, you dick!

Avi, Valor, and Ermir flashed a stunned look.

It fell into the ocean, said Kelso.

You had one job, Kelso. One fucking job, teased Ermir, though his tone held hints of utter contempt.

Well, then one of you go down and get it, said Avi. His voice shook, trying to maintain calm.

Whatever you dropped, said Tullia, eyes fixed on the shattered remains of her ship, It won’t be straight down. Ocean current could’ve carried it off miles away by now.

Kal propped himself up and took a better look at his surroundings. Bits of The Liberty and its cargo floated, providing somewhere for himself and the other survivors to rest. However, he was more transfixed on Avi’s friends, buoyant in spite of their armor. That wasn’t part of his spell.

You did well, said Cili, holding Kal’s shoulder. Her voice sounded low and weak, tired. That was fast thinking. Probably saved them. Definitely bought me time enough to get them to stay afloat.

That made more sense. Kal prevented drowning, but it was Cili’s spell (perhaps the last of her strength) to make sure they didn’t plunge straight to the bottom of the sea.

Kal nodded, still focused on his breathing.

Avi’s friends argued, frustrated and tired and injured. Kal noticed then that Ermir held Valor aloft from the water. The halfling’s eyes looked heavy, as though he struggled to stay conscious.

The toll of favor from the gods. Even ones so far from Múrnig. Whether distance was the cause, or the act of channeling a fragment of the deity’s power, Kal didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

Though, rather than rile himself, he turned his gaze outward.

Even under some lingering cloud cover, Kal couldn’t discern where they were. He couldn’t see anything resembling land. The horizon in every direction stood without end.

We’re fucked.

Each survivor pulled whatever large floating debris they could find, strapping them together for a makeshift raft. Sea-soaked, salted crusted, and sunburned, they climbed aboard and lay down.

Kal tried to stay alert, tried to keep watch and allow the others some much needed sleep. He’d no voice for song, nor his instruments in shape to play a melody to soothe broken bodies. Little else could be done.

Avi, ever vigilant, stayed beside Kal for support.

Kal’s eyes weighed heavy, his muscles ached, even his inner flame hushed. He nearly drifted into the start of a slumber when he felt Avi jerk suddenly.

No, said Avi. It was a sea lion, and some weird army of fish-men. The ship is destroyed and Kelso lost the bottle. It fell into the water.

Kal knotted his brow and blinked at Avi. Who are you talking to?

Avi raised a palm. A serious look consumed his face.

More waiting.

Avi’s expression changed, light for a moment. His brow furrowed soon after. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll find you—I’ll find you. I promise. His hands furled tight. I’ll find you.

Kal stared. His tired brain didn’t have the energy to make sense of it. Your kid?

Avi remained still, staring at the ocean.

Kal followed his gaze. The water took a shade of black in the light of dusk. Whatever Avi glared at, Kal couldn’t see. His mind suggested it. He watched the half-elf’s face tighten, the whites of his eyes turning pink and glossy.

I’m tired of losing the people I care about, whispered Avi.

Kal blinked, unsure of what to do with that, given their state. So, he said nothing, and rested an arm around his friend for silent comfort.

They drifted for two days, using every means to push westward to known land. A passing ship, flying Névean colors, signaled them. Kal and Cili wasted no time answering. Dehydrated and half-starved, they couldn’t afford the luxury of choosing their terms or wait for another ship to chance by them.

The human crew sent out a line as they closed in and helped pull each member of The Liberty (whoever and whatever remained of either) aboard. Blankets were sent for, and the cook began heating and thinning a stew.

Captain Blakely of Illuska Isle—and the ship, Blue Pride—explained that a storm damaged the vessel and blew it off course. And a good thing of it, thought Kal, else they’d still be adrift, burned, parched, and starving.

Blakely went on to ask if the same disaster befell The Liberty.

Tullia nodded and elaborated further, recounting the battle against the sea lion. Blakely’s eyes widened with Tullia’s description. In all fairness, he seemed taken by Tullia from his first look at her.

Ye’ve go’ quite ‘de tale, said Blakely in a thick Névean accent. Ye be count’n yersel’s lucky t’ survive. Wa’ers near Dayas’gar ‘re trech’rous enough. Ne’er been ‘de same since it fell int’ ‘de sea years back, I hear.

Avi, who’d sat somber and lost in thought, whipped his head up and spoke in the human language. What did you say?

Blakely stopped, reluctantly shifting his attention from Tullia to the half-elf at her left.

Dayas’gar, repeated Avi. What did you say about Dayas’gar?

Blakely showed his palms and shrugged. Tha’ all ol’ capt’ns say the wa’ers turned trech’rous since it fell int’ ‘de sea. Mo’ den two cent’ry ago, I think.

Avi blinked inquisitively, his mind visibly reeling from under his wrappings. His fingers clutched his mug of (untouched) watered-down stew, steam rising in a slow and constant dance beneath his face.

Why? What is it? whispered Kal.

Kelso repeated the words, though at a standard volume in his bland tone.

Avi broke into a hysterical chuckle, looking up at his friends. Silly mustache is right. If we’d bothered to talk to the people we travel with, we could’ve avoided this. It makes sense.

Kal cocked a brow. If you say so, but it’d help if you explained.

Avi dropped his gaze to the contents of his cup. Ermir, you said you found Hebi and Valor about to be executed, or sacrificed, in the Dwellings, right?

Ermir scratched at his scaly cheek, his eyes roaming as he thought. Yeah. A creepy snake cult, like the one in the bog. Why?

The half-elf’s eye turned to Valor. She was held in there, separate from you?

Valor, still exhausted, gave a slow nod.

Avi looked back into his stew water. That ritual we stumbled in on... Hebi said she couldn’t go near the ocean. She’s been wandering Múrnig for over a century. And there’s a high reward to bring her to Karsana, the nearest port to Dayas’gar, alive.

Call it hunger, exhaustion, or plain stupidity. Kal didn’t understand what any of that had to do with their present situation.

You think this was all to do with her? asked Valor, slow in his choice of words. His eyes dragged away from his own untouched cup, his fingers seeming to sponge up any available warmth.

Avi looked up from his mug and directly at Kelso. How long did it take between you losing the bottle, to the sea lion diving under the ship?

Kelso looked caught off guard by the question. I don’t know. I was still batting away those gods-damned fish-things. He paused, turning his head away and rolling his lower lip over his bottom teeth, careful not to expose his fangs. Within a couple of minutes, maybe.

Avi grimaced, looking from Kelso to Tullia to Blakely and then to the rest. I thought it might’ve been bad luck at first. Those things came on board and I thought it was because of me, because of my son. Some curse. With the run of luck I’ve had, it wouldn’t be the first time. But then they focused on trying to get Kelso into the water, and I thought it had to do with him. I didn’t put it together at the time. He had the bottle.

Yeah, said Ermir, shedding his covers and straightening his back. But how would they know that Kelso had her?

Avi looked to his dragon-kin friend, furrowing his brow, Because you told him to get her. Right after you said that, the sea lion roared and those things appeared.

Ermir tightened his jaw, but didn’t argue. Despite being more than twice the size of Avi, he didn’t argue.

Tullia frowned. One of you had better explain this. Now.

Kal’s back went rigid, though he wasn’t about to utter a word in response.

Avi, Ermir, and Kelso looked almost as uncomfortable. Valor answered, slow and conservative in his use of words.

As he did, Tullia’s frown hardened into a scowl. Her eyes moved from Valor, landing on Kal. Did you know this?

Kal’s throat tightened, his inner flame reviving itself in his gut—wary and ready. He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t sound a single syllable.

I’m sorry, said Avi.

Tullia’s cold gaze cut to him.

I just want to get my son back. And I knew you wouldn’t risk your ship or crew.

Cili breathed a word of shock. Avi...

I thought if I could get close enough, and jump ship—leave you uninvolved—

Tullia shot up, dropping her mug of hot-water-imitation-food. But you didn’t!

I only meant—

Tullia smacked away Avi’s mug, splashing the contents on Kal (who stared like a mouse caught by a crow in the night, and held firm to his half-finished share). Sharp bits of air, sucked in by onlookers, whispered through the silence.

Avi countered Tullia’s cruel glare with a defiant look of his own, the same one he showed against a Eurybian captain on The Mystic, though more steadfast now.

Kal didn’t see them as a half-elf and a human, but as two puma-bears waiting to strike and tear into each other.

He felt like his loyalties were being tested. Maybe they were.

Sleep.

Not that anything else could get done. A bit of much needed food, sparce as it was, and sleep helped. Nothing